Brothers
by KooriRoninheart
Summary: Fate could have made them bitter enemies instead it made them brothers. Foster and Nathaniel Conway, watch them grow from children to men in the lands of Lordaeron and beyond. Warnings: Adult Situations, Erotica, Violence
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note: This tale will not posses yaoi/slash sex scenes (which was harder than it should have been to leave out) but if you are totally homophobia I would probably avoid reading it. _

_Additional Note: A review asked where I got my time-line, mostly patched together from wowwiki time-line page which has a dozen different time-lines ... in hindsight I probably shouldn't have been so exact with the years. Just wanted to show where the world was as the boys aged, hopefully the true historians won't be totally put off if I'm off by a year or two on events._

_Edits 8/8/2010 – Just finished an all day grammar marathon on my two current stories, since it is still self editing I can guarantee I overlooked some items but added a bit more polish. I did not change the plot at all so no need to read the previous chapters again._

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_Darrowmere Forest was beautiful and brimming with farms and small villages. The regional government was centered on the city of Stratholme, the largest city in Lordaeron. It is this peaceful land where our story begins._

_**In year 593 of the King's Calendar – Eager to conquer a new world and aided by corrupted Alliance magi, the orcs attack. The First War begins**_

**Chapter One - **_Thomas Conway, Age 25_

Whistling to himself, Thomas Conway followed the road north from Andorhal. The wheat from his fields had sold well. Talk around town was that of a war further to the south. The younger men seemed excited about it and spoke of offering their swords to the cause. Though well trained with a blade, Thomas was more suited to lending his back to the war. Growing food for the troops and it didn't hurt his pocketbook either. The money belt wrapped around his waist, hidden under his shirt was heavy with coin. With a slight twitch of the wrist the horse that was pulling his wagon turned east and toward home. With any luck he would be back home before nightfall.

As he neared the bridge to cross Thondroril River he saw a group of people off in the distances at the edge of the wood. It seemed to scuffle of some sort. Thomas pulled his hat lower and continued down the road. He may only be twenty-five years old but he'd learned long ago to keep his nose in his own affairs. That was until he heard the scream, a very feminine shriek … and one that was more than fear. The large black dog that had been resting in the back of the empty wagon lifted his head. With a soft tug at the reins the horse stopped and Thomas leapt down. "Come on, Wags," he said. The canine, which was more wolf than hound, followed Tom as he walked purposely toward the small crowd. There were three men standing and another kneeling on the ground over a fifth One of those on their feet saw him approaching. The man looked old enough to be Thomas's father if he had still been alive.

"Go away, pup, this isn't …"

There wasn't a chance to finish speaking as Thomas reached out and grabbed the man unexpectedly behind the neck and jerked him down, slamming his knee into the drunken head with a sickening crunch. As the guy collapsed his face a bloody mess from his broken nose, Thomas was already advancing on the second man. To the third he gave growling beast at his side a command, "take him down, Wags." There was an ebony flash as the dog sprung. Both by luck or stupidity on their part the men were unarmed and Thomas dispatched the second one as easily as the first. As the final man struggled to stand his pants around his ankles, Tom noticed a bloody knife clenched in his hand. Neither Tom nor his dog had been scratched, that only left … moving with speed unseen by most farmers Thomas disarmed the rapist and buried the blade into the neck of its owner. As the dying man gasped his last breath Tom pushed him aside and knelt down.

"You killed Frank!"

Thomas glanced over his shoulder at the man that cowered under the snarling fangs of Wags; the others were either unconscious or dead. Thomas growled, "My wolf will do the same to you if you don't shut the hell up." Turning back to the still form on the ground Thomas turned her gingerly over. He gasped, the woman wasn't human. One of her long elegant ears had been butchered with the blade. Her robe was in tattered and her left breast was bare with a deep cut that spurt crimson every time she took a breath. However, what caused him to whisper the word "kill" and the dog behind him to finish off the final man was the very pregnant belly that had a crimson hand print on the top.

Tearing off his shirt he pressed it against the wound, trying to stop the blood. "Light give me strength," he whispered.

"Please …"

Thomas looked into the pain filled eyes, the color of sapphires, of the elf dying before him. "Hold on ma'am, please …" He looked around frantically; there wasn't a soul within sight.

"Please … save him…"

Cold fingers of death wrapped around his wrist, leaving a scarlet bloody bracelet. She moved his hand and placed it on top of the handprint on her belly. He felt the life within kick. The hand that held his went limp as the elf breathed her last. Looking up Thomas whispered a prayer for her soul to whatever god she served as he felt another strike on his hand, resting on her belly. The babe was still alive but would not be much longer. Reaching over he pulled the blade out of the neck of the dead man. There was no more time for questions or misgivings.

Taking a breath, to calm himself, he used the knife on the cooling body in front of him. As blood coated his hands he reached inside and pulled out the small form. Relieved to feel the baby move in his hands but the cry it made sounded gargled. What had given the infant warmth and safety a moment ago was now threatening to suffocate his tiny lungs. Birth was not a new experience for Thomas, he had aided in many around his farm not only animals but his son's a couple years ago and his daughter only last month. Lacking a syringe to clean the baby's airways, Thomas covered the tiny mouth and nose with his own mouth and inhaled. He spit the warm liquid out and did it twice more before the baby let out a healthy and clear sounding scream. Cradling the baby in one hand, he quickly used his handkerchief to tie off the umbilical cord and then with the blade separated son from mother.

The baby wailed as Thomas nestled him against his bare chest, his bloody shirt lay useless on the ground. "Shh …" Tom rocked the infant as he looked around. There were at least three corpses at his feet; the other two men were unmoving. He had no regrets in the killings he carried out, to attack a woman made a man dirt, to attack one carrying a life … even if the woman wasn't human, there was no second chances in Thomas's eyes. Walking back to his wagon he set the crying baby down in the blankets that Wags usually rested on. Then taking the shovel from the side of the cart he walked back.

"I'm sure you have a family looking for you and I wish I had the means to return you to them," he told the dead mother as he started to dig. "However, I can't show up in Darrowshire with a dead woman. Even if they believed the events I told, chances are I wouldn't get an option to tell them before I found my neck in a noose. I'll do right for you, my lady. I'll find a safe haven for your baby." He continued to ramble as he dug, the other two men still hadn't moved and getting caught with five corpses would not end well.

However, he refused to leave the woman to the wolves. Soon the grave was deep enough. Thomas gently inspected the body hoping to find something that would lead him to the elf maiden's family. But there was nothing, no jewelry, nor purse … just her tattered robe. With a sigh he moved her to the hollow and set her down. He whispered a prayer and then quickly buried her. His final act was to cover the grave with as many river rocks as he had strength to carry. Hopefully the wolves would take the ready meat lying around and leave her in peace. As he went to return to his wagon a thought struck him and he did a quick search of the men he and Wags had killed. He left the coins he found but did find a small gold ring that would have been an ill fit for any of the men here. "Perhaps to the elves this will have more meaning … if it was hers at all."

Returning to his wagon he glanced in the back to find the baby had cried himself to sleep and Wags nestled in close. Climbing up in the seat, Thomas picked up the reins and looked back the way he had come. The undergrowth hid the bodies, hopefully before the carrion birds drew the attention of travelers they and the other beasts of the forest would hide what happen this day. "Well, we won't get home before dark," Tom said as he flicked the reins and the horse started to move. "Norah is going to be worried."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two - **_Thomas Conway, Age 25_

The sun had long since set by the time the weary horse turned down the lane toward the homestead. Nestled between Darrowshire, Corin's Crossing and the mountains to the south, it wasn't much to look at for the moment. It was just a small cottage and a slightly bigger barn that was home to two horses, a cow and various other farm animals. Thomas's pride and joy were the two large fields that lay in the distance. There were plans and dreams of a bigger house, more fields and hired hands to work them. For now there was only Thomas and his young wife, Norah. Pulling on the reins the horse stopped outside the house. As Thomas leapt down off the wagon and reached back to collect the baby, he heard the door open.

"The hour is late, Thomas," his wife said behind him. "Did you have to fight old Mr. Paterson for a fair price?"

"Nay," Thomas replied, keeping his back to his wife. A warm glow surrounded him as Norah stepped outside with the lantern she held. There was a soft gasp as the dark stains and dried blood on his arms became clear.

"Yours?" Norah asked.

"Nay," Thomas repeated as he turned to face her. He loved his wife; she was the most beautiful and strong woman he knew. Her long auburn hair had been pulled into a single braid down her back. Emerald eyes that usually twinkle in a constant state of amusement were laced with concern. The babe in his arm let out a pitifully weak cry and his wife startled.

"Tom?" She whispered.

"His mother was being attacked by bandits near Thondroril River. I tried … she was already too close to the Light … I did what I had to, to save her child." Warm arms embraced him as Norah wrapped hers around him. The crying baby nestled between them.

"The attackers?" she asked.

"Dead …"

"Good," Norah took the baby from his arms. "He's still covered in life-blood. I'll bathe him … have you fed him?"

"How could I, my wife?" He asked. "Thankfully he has slept most of the journey."

His lovely Norah nodded her head. "I'll tend to the babe; you take care of the horse and Wags. I've fed the rest of the stock for you."

Thomas kissed the forehead of his wife. "Do you know of the beings they speak of, to the far north? The ones that are said to have the skin the color of milk and the eyes that burn with an inner fire?"

"You mean elves, beloved?" Norah sounded confused. "This is not the time for fairytales."

"They are no fantasy," Thomas said as he turned back toward the wagon. "I buried one tonight and you hold her child in your arms."

His wife gasped. "By the Light … no matter he is a babe and I know what all babies need be they mine, a puppy or an elfin child."

Thomas smiled and kissed her once more before heading off. It took him no time to feed and bed the horse for the night. He gave Wags a meaty bone to chew on as the dog settled into his house outside the barn. With their furry protector they hadn't lost so much as an egg to bandits either the two-legged or four. Walking over to the pump located outside the barn, Thomas removed the money belt from around his chest. Then using the chilly water he scrubbed as much of the blood as he could from his hands, arms and chest. Then putting his hands together under the water he pooled some into his palms and used that on his face. Afterwards he shook the access water off and headed into his home.

Soft singing greeted him as he stepped inside, along with the smaller of their two dogs, a white female mutt that his wife had named Daisy. He patted the dog on her head as he slid off his boots and left them at the door. Norah was sitting in her rocking chair near the fire. Her stocking foot rested against the small cradle in front of her making it sway in time with her as she rocked. Inside slept was their daughter, Janice. The elfin child was nursing on her breast. Thomas smiled at the sight, she was right. She knew what every child needed and due to the birth of their daughter earlier in the month had the means to provide it.

"Foster?" Thomas whispered, asking about their first born.

"He's asleep in the loft," Norah replied in the same hushed tones. "He tried to stay awake until you got home." Due to the small nature of their house the living space was an open area with the small loft being bedroom to all. "Your dinner is in the icebox," she said. "Just sandwich it between a couple pieces of bread and call it done."

It didn't take Thomas long to find the roast in question and using a knife he cut off two thick slices of bread from the freshly cooked loaf on the counter. He poured himself a mug of ale and joined his wife in front of the fire. It was a comfortable silence as he ate, with only the soft suckling noises from the hungry infant. It was only after he finished that Norah asked him what happened. He told her, leaving nothing out.

"The poor babe," Norah said, "the poor mother … those men …" Her emerald eyes flashed. "You did right by them Thomas, they deserved no less." The infant had fallen asleep on her breast. She gently removed him and then laid him down in the crib beside Janice, covering them both with a soft quilt. "So what now?" she asked.

"I promised the mother I would do right for her child," Thomas said.

"But how, Tom?" she asked. "We know so little of his people, they keep to themselves. They are no friend of humans …"

"Nor do I believe they are enemies," Thomas pointed out.

"If the tales are believed their home is far to the North, it would take months for you to reach it. And would they accept the babe into their arms if you did?" She asked.

"What do you mean?" Thomas frowned. "The baby is their blood, why would they not?"

"Think, my love, why would a mother in her current state be alone in a foreign land?" Norah asked. "This child was not born early, he is healthy. Perhaps the mother was not welcomed with her people."

"Or maybe she was trying to get home to them," Thomas said. "There is also Dalaran, far to the west. They say it is a place of learning that both human and elves reside."

"It is still many days journey and what would a scholar want with a babe," Norah said.

"It seems to me you are playing the devil's advocate, my dearest wife," Thomas said. "Perhaps it would be better for you just to speak plainly?"

"I heard once, be it true or not that elves live a long time; that this babe will still be here when Janice's grandchildren, children are farming these lands. I do not think this is a decision we should reach lightly or quickly. For him time does not have the same meaning. The Light guided you to the woman for a reason."

"He's not some lost puppy, Norah," Thomas said. "There is a chance he has a family out there, think of what you would go through if Janice or Foster was taken from you. There may very well be a father out there right now wondering where his wife and child are!"

"And there may not be," Norah said. "Something is just telling me that this baby was meant to be here with us. The only other choice I can see is for you to leave and take the baby to Stratholme's orphanage. We do not have the means for you to hand-deliver it to wherever the elves live. You have a family and fields that need you here."

"You wish to keep the child." It wasn't a question but his wife nodded and Thomas relented. "He'll need a name."

"Nathaniel," she said.

"After my father?" he raised an eyebrow.

"He died in service to his country," Norah replied.

"He died for nothing," Thomas growled, the old wound from the loss still not healed.

"You were once a warrior for the same cause, if only for a few years."

"And I left that life behind to raise our family together," Thomas replied. "I have no regrets."

"Nor will you regret this decision," Norah said as she stood and collected the child now named Nathaniel. "Take your daughter, Tom, let us head to bed. It has been a long day."

Gentling cradling Janice in one hand he climbed the ladder to the loft. The ceiling was low there so he had to move on his knees, but it wasn't far. He laid Janice down on the quilt beside his wife so she could nurse her as needed. Nathaniel was already there. Norah tucked them both in as Thomas checked on his eldest. Foster had the same dark hair as his father, and was sleeping with his chubby arms wrapped around a battered bear. Kissing him on the forehead and making sure he was tucked in; Thomas whispered a prayer to the Light to watch over his family and to the spirit of the mother lost that day. "I promised your child a safe haven and he will find no other more secure than here. Please rest in peace and watch over him as he grows."

Then he moved over to the bed he shared with his wife, banging his head on a low beam he muffled a curse. "Three bedrooms …" he whispered.

"Oh at least five," Norah replied as she snuggled close. "And a proper kitchen …"

"Would you like a sitting room with that, my lady?" Thomas replied with a grin.

"To match your study, but of course!" she said.

"Five bedrooms and just how do you plan of filling so many rooms," Thomas asked as he playfully rubbed her belly, his fingers circling lower.

Strong finger entwined around his own stopping his teasing. "You touch me and you die," she said flatly. "They will be filled very slowly."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three - **_Thomas Conway, Age 25_

Thomas loved working in the fields, to take something from seed to harvest was one of the most rewarding feelings. The troubles from yesterday vanished as his sickle cut through the golden stalks of wheat. After he finished one row he would stop and bundle the loose wheat into large stacks, tying each with a length of heavy string. These he left in the field to be gathered up and stored at day's end. They would have to cure before he could thresh and winnow. His cotton shirt was soaked with sweat. The ring he had found yesterday now hung on a chain around his neck, placed there so he would remember the promise made. He had started shortly after daybreak and it was near lunchtime when the soft wailing of a baby warned him of company.

Wags and Daisy appeared first; Thomas made them remain with his wife when he was in the fields. They were followed by Foster who was unsteadily making his way through grass almost as tall as he was. His fingers wrapped around his mother's, who was overburden. She had a small pack on her back, one of the babes in a sling at her chest and one wailing in her arms. Laying down his sickle Thomas hurried out to meet them.

He scooped Foster up in one hand and slid the pack off his wife's back with the other. "Brudder loud," the child complained with a frown.

"That bad?" Thomas asked, looking at his wife.

"He's been fed, changed, burped … yet he cries. And they aren't tears of want, they sound more like pain. The only time he stops is when he is feeding or when he finally succumbs to exhaustion. I may have spoken hastily last night. I am not sure I have it in me to care for one so demanding."

Thomas gently chided his wife. "There have been many women before you to care for a colicky baby."

"I can't help to think it is something more," Norah said with a sigh over the cries of Nathaniel. Shouldering the pack, Thomas took the baby from her and held him close. Almost instantly the cries stopped. The adults looked at each other with bemused expressions. "Well, he clearly has his favorite," Norah said.

"And how is my beautiful daughter, this morning?" Thomas asked as he led his family to a shady spot under a tree.

"Wondering why it's been so noisy," Norah replied as she laid out a quilt. "She is a calm baby, though I believe her new brother's crying has rubbed off on her slightly. She's been more fussy than normal."

"And how about you, big guy?" Thomas asked the toddler. "Have you been good for Mommy?"

"Down!" was the reply he got. As Foster ran off chasing butterflies with Wags and Daisy close behind, Thomas joined his wife on the blanket. Both of them were cradling sleeping infants as she took lunch out of the pack. Taking a moment to study the newest arrival, Thomas noticed his hair, what little there was of it, was light blond almost white. The only sign that the baby he held was not his were the tiny pointed ears. He gently traced one of them.

"I could always tell people I mated with a jackrabbit," Norah said with a grin as she watched him.

Nathaniel found Thomas's pinky and held it in his tightly clenched fist as he slept. "So tiny and yet so perfect … a little person waiting to become what they will." He continued to hold the sleeping baby as they called Foster over and ate the cold lunch Norah had packed for them. Afterwards he gently gave the infant to his wife and headed back to the fields. He really needed to finish and get the grain stored out of the weather before the rain that was expected.

Only a dozen steps separated them when first cries could be heard. Thomas looked over at his wife and met her graze. She gave him a small smile and a shrug as she nestled the crying baby closer and headed back toward home.

The sun was low in the sky as the last bundle of wheat was stored away to dry and cure. Once again he used the pump to wash himself, this time stripping completely and using the lye soap resting nearby. Afterwards he wrapped the rough towel Norah had left for him around his waist and gathering up his clothes, dirty from the fields, headed inside. He was not surprised to have the cries of Nathaniel greet him. He walked over to his wife in the kitchen and embraced her from behind. Without saying anything he hugged her for a long moment. Then walking over the crib Thomas picked up the crying baby and like earlier he fell quiet. "Well, my son, this is going to be an issue," Thomas said with a grin.

"Me son!" the toddler at the table shouted.

Kneeling down so he could look Foster in the face, whose lip was trembling at the moment, Thomas kissed his eldest on the forehead. "You are my son, my most favorite two year old in the whole world," he said. "However, Nathaniel and Janice are my children too. You have a very important role now, Foster. It is up to you to be their big brother and watch out for them. Keep them safe and out of trouble."

The toddler in the chair wrinkled his nose. "Cookie!"

Letting out a hearty chuckle, Thomas stood. "No cookies until after dinner, young man." He glanced down at the baby in his arms, and was surprised to find him awake. Two bright eyes looked up at him. "By the Light I have never seen such a blue before."

"He's been star kissed," Norah said with a smile. "The starlight now glows in those eyes and his future will be just as bright."

Smiling Thomas set the baby down in the crib and headed to the other side of the room to find some clothes before dinner. As soon as he took two steps away Nathaniel let out a pitiful wail. With a frown Tom stepped back and knelt down. "Hush, my son, you cannot do this to your mother." Only whimpering cries answered him. With a slightly bemused look, Thomas picked the infant back up and dressed himself one handed.

"You'll spoil him," Norah chided.

"Just giving you some peace, my wife," Thomas replied.

"Then you will spoil me," Norah replied with a smile.

"Rightfully so," Thomas said, joining Foster at the table for dinner. All of a sudden there was a blinding light outside followed by a deafening crash that rattled the window panes. The small family startled and Foster let out a scared yelp. "Just thunder and lightning, my son, the rain will start soon." On cue the sky opened up.

"That lightning hit pretty close …" Norah said glancing nervously out a window, her view was blocked from the torrent of rain falling.

"You too, beloved?" he said with a shake of his head. Standing he set Nathaniel down in the crib next to his sister. Ignoring the cries as he walked away, he reached for his coat hanging near the door. "I'll go check the barn and the animals, make sure Wags has found his way inside as well. Be right back, you two scaredy cats."

"I no scary cat!" Foster yelled as Thomas pulled his hood up and ducked out into the storm.

He was instantly soaked as he ran for the barn, there would be another change of clothes in his immediate future. As he ran he glanced at the trees surrounding the property trying to spot any damage a nearby lightning bolt might have caused. In the dusk he could not see any. Reaching the barn he pulled the door open and ducked inside. Wags met him with a happy bark. The dog's calm manner put Thomas at ease. He did a quick once over on the animals bedded there. The cow, Missy, seemed a little unease at the storm but the two horses were contently chewing on their dinner. Thomas patted Wags on the head, "Good boy, keep them safe." Putting his hood up he went back out into the storm, taking a moment to lock the door securely. If the rain eased, Wags could get out the same way he got in, through a hinged door built for that purpose. After quick circle around the outer edge of the barn and house Thomas went back in to appease any fears.

The cries of Nathaniel and the warmth of the hearth greeted him. After reporting his findings Thomas changed once again, this time pulling on a warm flannel shirt to chase away the chill of the rain. Scooping the crying infant out of the crib, Thomas joined his family for a hearty dinner.

"It is supposed to rain all day tomorrow," he said. "I managed to get the west field harvested; after it cures I'll be making another trip into Andorhal."

"Rainy days can be trying days," Norah said. "Foster gets to be quite the handful when he can't run around outside."

"I'll be here to help with him and coddle this noisy one," Thomas said, as the babe in question let out a content coo. "Though there are some repairs I need to do around the house and it will be a good time to sharpen my tools. I can take Foster with me to the barn when that time comes."

"Because sharpening tools and two year olds are such a good combination," Norah said with a grin.

Thomas returned the smile. These family moments are what made life worth living. To him there was nothing better than the love of his wife and children and the means to put a warm roof over their heads and food on the table.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four - **_Thomas Conway, Age 25_

"Love, how long was his mother's ears?"

Looking over from buttoning Foster's coat, Thomas frowned. He didn't like thinking of the elf maiden. "The men had … I would say they were at least a foot long if not a bit more. Why do you ask?"

Norah gently traced the tiny pointed ear of the baby suckling her breast. It was the only time she could hold him and he wouldn't cry. Thomas was using this time to make good on his promise to get Foster out of her hair for a while and sharpen the tools. The rain from the night before had become a light shower, but the ground was too wet to work in.

"Just curious, my love … you need not to overly hurry he'll sleep for a short time after he finishes. I do appreciate your help today; it has been tenfold quieter than yesterday."

"All right," Thomas said standing and picking Foster up. "We'll be back in a bit, ready to get wet, Foster?"

"Weeeee!" was the shouted reply as the raindrops fell on his upturned face.

Once inside the barn, Thomas set his son down, the toddler was enthusiastically greeted by Wags. With the animals already fed earlier in the day, Thomas set to work on the various tools lying around. He was sliding the sharpening stone along the blade of the sickle when Foster let out a scream. Startled Thomas looked up and found his son crumpled on the ground near Missy's stable. Hurrying over he scooped him up and looked him over.

"Missy bit me butt!" the toddler cried.

A quick glance down the back of the diaper confirmed it. The thick cloth had absorbed most of the force but a small bruise was forming. "Your Mommy is going to be mad at me," Thomas said with a sigh. "She knows some healing though; she'll make it all better." Norah had been training to be a priest before she had fallen in love with Thomas.

Picking up the still whimpering Foster, Thomas hurried back to the house. Once inside he set him down and glanced around, "Norah?"

"Oh, I didn't expect you back so soon," came her voice from the loft. "Be right there."

It dawned on Thomas there was no crying coming from the crib. He glanced over and found only his daughter within. Perhaps Norah was changing Nathaniel and that was delaying her return from the loft. Foster had forgotten about his misadventure in the barn and was happily playing with Daisy. A long moment passed and Thomas frowned. "Norah?"

"Just a moment, I'm almost done."

There was an edge to her voice, one Thomas hadn't heard before. "Is Nathaniel with you?" he asked.

"It would have been better if I could have cleaned up before you got back inside," Norah said as she appeared and started down the ladder to the loft. He grabbed her around the waist and lifted her down the last few steps.

"I'm sorry, your eldest got bit in the butt by Missy … the diaper took most of it but thought you might want to have a look …" his words lost as Norah turned to face him, her tunic and fingers covered in blood. As was Nathaniel's hair and cheeks. "By the Light!"

"He's fine, love," Norah said. "I had to place him in an enchanted sleep while I worked, not sure why I didn't think of that yesterday. I just need to wash us up." She walked toward the sink.

Grabbing her arm Thomas stopped her. "What did you do?"

"We made a choice to raise this child as our own," Norah said defensively. "We cannot have twelve inch jackrabbit ears saying otherwise."

Taking Nathaniel from her arms Thomas hurried over to the sink. Using the warm water Norah must have put there earlier, he washed off the sleeping baby's face and hair. The tiny ear washed clean, the tip was no longer pointed; magic and blade had altered it.

"I may have to do it again as he grows," Norah said at his shoulder. "I swear to you, he felt no pain and nor will he when he awake. I've deadened the nerves where it was needed. Please, don't be mad … it was in his best interest."

"I had hoped in the future be it near or distant," Thomas said, "that he would know his mother's kind. Promise me when that day comes you will return them to what they were meant to be, so he can do so without shame."

"I promise," Norah said. "I only did it now for the same reason, to conceal his heredity until he is at an age he can face it. Please do not think of ill of me."

"Never," Thomas said facing her. "Not in my life-time or his, will I think poorly of you, my wife. What is done is done; your oldest has a bite on his fanny that needs your attention."

Norah smiled but it didn't reach her eyes, he pulled her into an embrace and kissed her. Letting his lips linger until he felt her relax. When they parted there was a true smile upon her face. Laying Nathaniel down in the crib, Thomas took a moment to pick up Janice who welcomed his kisses on her soft cheek with a content coo. A knock on the door startled the occupants; their location and the weather this day did not fancy visitors. With the events from yesterday heavy on his mind Thomas set his daughter beside Nathaniel and opened the door. He was relieved to see two familiar young teenagers standing on his stoop. "Well if it isn't Joseph and Carlin Redpath, what brings you boys out to my humble abode in this weather?"

The older of the red-headed boys, Carlin, laughed. "This ain't nothing, last night now that was a storm! The Chamber's barn was struck by lightning it done burnt to the ground!"

"Oh no!" Norah said. "Is everyone okay?"

"Yes ma'am," said Joseph, "well if you don't count the cow and the chickens they lost."

"The rain stopped the fire from spreading," Carlin added.

"Would the two of you like to warm up with a cup of hot chocolate?" Norah asked.

The boys' eyes lit up. "Oh yes …" started Joseph, but Carlin elbowed him. "Ow!"

"No, ma'am, we ain't staying, our Dad just wanted to have us check in with the folks in the country make sure they weathered the storm. He sent runners from Darrowshire to Corin's Crossing and Tyr's Hand all the way to Stratholme! We ain't seen nothing but a few trees down here and there."

"We saw this one split clean in half!" Joseph said waving his arms around excited.

Thomas let out a hearty chuckle as he patted both boys on the head. "Well you tell your pa he's doing a fine job as Mayor of Darrowshire." Walking over to the counter he opened a small glass jar and picked out some candies within. "If you can't stay for hot cocoa then please take a couple of these maple chews for the road."

The boys eagerly put the taffy like sweets in their mouth and after promises to be safe and turn back toward Darrowshire before it got much later, headed down the path. Norah joined him at the door as they watched the Redpaths until they disappeared around the bend. "Someday that will be our two boys out running amok in the forest. I wonder what mischief they will get into."

Patting her hand affectionately Thomas gave her a mischievous grin. "If they grow up to be anything like I was at that age, we're going to be in trouble."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five - **_Thomas Conway, Age 25_

The cries of Nathaniel woke him; Thomas listened as Norah shuffled around in their bed, which was just a mattress on the loft floor. At his wife's tired sigh, Thomas put a hand on her arm. "He's not hungry?" he whispered.

"He won't take it," she said, exhaustion clear in her voice.

"Give him to me," Thomas said. Taking the offered infant he put him on his bare chest. The cries instantly stilled. He could feel Nathaniel's heartbeat, it was racing and his tiny face was damp with tears. "My son, what haunts your mind when we're apart?" Running a caressing hand down the small back and arms he found the baby's fist curled around the ring that hung off the chain he wore. "Miss her do you?" Thomas whispered. A thought occurred to him, "or is there something more?"

"What are you rambling about, my husband?" Norah asked. "The hour is late and the sun still comes up on time."

"I'm sorry, Norah, but bear with me for a moment longer." Thomas said apologetically. "Can you remove the chain I placed about my neck, the one that holds his mother's ring?"

The cool fingers of his wife nimbly worked the clasp in the dark, as Thomas uncurled the baby's fingers from the ring. As Norah pulled the necklace away Nathaniel confirmed his father's thoughts as he let out a scream. "Place it on him …" She did as he asked the baby calmed down.

"By the Light," Norah whispered, "is it magic?"

"It is for him at least," Thomas said. "Tuck the ring close to him while he sleeps, under the blanket so he doesn't get caught up in the chain."

Norah took the baby from him and did as he asked. Afterwards she laid back down and Nathaniel remained quiet. "I believe our days will be a lot less noisy," she said with a smile. "I'll make a small pouch to attach to his clothing tomorrow."

"I'm happy for him and for us we have figured it out," Thomas replied with a yawn. "I was pondering how I could work the fields with a child attached to me. Sweet dreams, beloved."

They awoke to the day of rest and after a cold breakfast, they crowded into the wagon for the trip to church. Clean quilts had been laid down in the back for Foster and the infants. Norah came out of the house wearing a simple cotton gown, it was modest but Thomas loved the way it looked. His own brown suit was a bit tattered at the hem; his wife saw it and promised she would fix it. Thomas helped her into the front seat and then climbing up beside her urged the horse down the path to the main road. Once on the road he turned east toward Corin's Crossing, where they would attend services.

"What are we going to tell them when they ask?" Norah asked.

"We found him in the cabbage patch," Thomas said impassively. This got him an elbow in the side and he smirked. "I don't like lying, nothing good comes of it."

"So we should just tell them the truth?" Norah said, "how you …"

"Little ears," Thomas interrupted.

Norah glanced back where Foster was playing with a small wooden horse.

"I said I didn't like it," Thomas said in a hushed voice, "but in this case if we mean to keep this ruse up I see no other way. They know my family in these parts, yours is from down south, your sister's kid …"

"I don't have one," Norah pointed out.

"They don't know that," Thomas said. "She passed on; you became keeper of Nathaniel, just arrived."

"More holes in that tale than a butterfly net …" she started.

"There is talk of war that way," Thomas replied as Corin's came into view. "I doubt people will ask many questions if any at all. Folks in these parts keep their noses in their own business." Pulling the wagon off the road and under a shady tree, Thomas hopped down. Wrapping the long reins around a low branch, it gave the horse plenty of room to graze.

"I know you like to give the horse comfort of the shade, but we now have one more to carry." Norah said as he helped her down.

"It's too crazy in town; it would be easier to find the needle in a haystack than a hitching post on church day. You take Janice, I got the boys." Scooping Foster up he plopped him on his shoulders, his other hand he cradled Nathaniel. Once assuring the eldest had a firm grip he offered his free arm to Norah and they walked together to the church in center of town.

The children were well behaved for services, the infants slept through most of it; when they did awake, their parents arms kept them still. Foster spent most of the time pushing his wooden horse up and down the pew but wasn't screaming so Thomas marked it as a success. Their newest addition was noticed but their fabricated tale was easily accepted and after the typical coos from the ladies, attention moved on to other thoughts. Mostly to talk of the war down south, there was mention of a new kind of beings that the troops were battling … stout and with fangs. Thomas had to believe the tales were stretched the further north they got. If there had been such creatures in this world they would have been seen before now. New races just didn't appear overnight.

"Thomas!"

Turning he saw the approach of a stout man, Donald O'Connell, the innkeeper. Thomas nodded, "Donald, beautiful day today, hope you and yours weathered the storm safely?"

"Aye, just rattled a few windows" the innkeeper replied, "kept travelers an extra day which didn't hurt either."

"How are Ellen and little Bethany doing?" Thomas asked. The infant in his arms started to stir.

Donald motioned to his wife and daughter who were mingling in the crowd outside the church. "They are doing just fine; wife wants to take a trip to Stratholme soon, something about being behind the times in Lordaeron fashion." He glanced over at Nathaniel. "Have another mouth to feed, huh? What fascinating eyes, I have never seen such a blue before."

Glancing down Thomas saw two bright blue eyes looking up at him. With the ring tucked in a velvet pouch under his tiny shirt, the babe had been almost unnaturally calm. "Aye," he agreed. "He'll be quite the lady charmer in a few years." Over Donald's shoulder he saw Norah with the other two children approaching. "Ah, here comes the rest of the family," he said. "We're headed over to lake for a picnic and a swim; please feel free to join us."

"You brought enough food for everyone?" Donald asked.

"Nay," Thomas replied with chuckle. "You'll have to supply your own there, but company is good."

"I'll see, Ellen is not too excited about picnics," Donald replied. "Eating with the bugs is what she calls them."

The two men shook hands and parted ways. Thomas fell in step beside his wife as they walked to the wagon with Foster running about in front of them. Once there Norah used the back of the wagon to change the diapers on all three children before the family walked toward the lake behind town. As expected they found other families with similar thoughts. Soon the field and lake were filled with chatter and laughter.

After eating an enjoyable lunch, Thomas slipped out of his suit. Underneath was a pair of cutoff denims. "Want to go swimming, Foster?" he asked. His son let out an excited squeal and Norah quickly undressed him down to his diaper. Leaving his wife with the two youngest Thomas carried Foster down to the water. There was very little shore, after only a few steps the bottom of the lake disappeared but Thomas was a good swimmer and easily treaded water holding onto his son. Around him others were enjoying the same cool water on a hot day. An unexpected large splash caused both him and Foster to sputter. Glancing over at the source he was greeted by sheepish chuckles from the Redpath boys, Joseph and Carlin. Flipping onto his back so his feet faced them he kicked with such gusto that the two boys were soon drenched. "We yield," they gasped as they laughed. A shout from the shore brought the boys to the edge where their mother, Tessa Redpath, gave them their younger sister, Marlene who was just a little older than Foster. This got her, "do we hafta?" from her sons.

Thomas motioned them over. "I'll keep an eye on her, Tessa!" he shouted. The boys gladly surrendered their sister to his arms and Thomas spent the time in the water floating with both children either sitting on his chest or in his arms. After noticing Foster's nose turning pink from the sun, kicked himself to the edge of the lake.

Tessa smiled as she collected her daughter from him. "Thank you, Thomas," she said. "Their father couldn't stay today had to get back to Darrowshire."

"Do you want me to escort you home," Thomas asked.

"The boys are old enough," she replied. "Thank you for your offer though."

Tipping his head Thomas walked over to where Norah was waiting with a warm towel for Foster who was now shivering as the wind blew on his damp skin. Taking a towel for himself Thomas quickly dried off as he did, he noticed Nathaniel missing from the quilt.

"Where's the babe?" he asked.

"Oh Ellen O'Connell wanted to coddle him a bit," Norah said pointing to where the O'Connell family was camped out under a tree. "We're going to have to make sure we don't neglected Janice for all the attention her star-kissed brother is getting."

Slipping a shirt over his damp skin, Thomas bent down and picked the babe in question up planting kisses on her face. "We wouldn't want that would we," he cooed at her. Cradling his daughter he walked over to where Ellen was spoiling his son. Her daughter, Bethany, who was the same age as Foster, was sitting on her mother's lap with Nathaniel resting in her tiny lap.

Smiling he approached, Ellen returned the grin but as always when he spoke to her Thomas couldn't help but feel as if she was a cat about to pounce on a mouse. The way her eyes slowly looked up and down him, his damp shirt clinging to the muscles from years of working in the field. His short dark hair still wet from the lake, glistened. Thomas couldn't help but blush which brought a giggle from the woman ogling him.

"My son behaving for you, ma'am?" he asked.

"He's a darling," Ellen replied. "Have a handful now don't you, sweetie? With three children already and so young …"

"They are a joy," Thomas replied.

"Foster!"

Norah's scream was heartbreaking; Thomas turned around and frantically tried to find his wife or the child she cried out for. Not seeing them, he turned and ran toward the most dangerous thing he could think of, the lake. Still cradling Janice to him he raced toward the water, there he saw Norah standing on the edge and Carlin Redpath was lifting a small limp form from the water.

"Please, no," Thomas prayed as he ran to his wife's side.

Someone grabbed his son from her arms and as he went to get him back hushed voices whispered, "Fordring …"

Thomas's hand fell on the arm of the other. "Please help him," he pleaded.

"I only turned my back for a moment," Norah wailed.

The paladin that held his son whispered a prayer and the small body glowed with a soft light. A moment later Foster let out a gasp and the man turned him over and helped the water be purged from his small lungs. Afterwards he handed the now crying Foster back to his mother. With a tip of his head the paladin walked back over to a horse being held by the reins, by a young woman astride her own horse.

"Thank you," Thomas said following him.

Tirion Fordring smiled as he climbed onto the saddle of his horse. "I am just fortunate to be passing through, take care."

Thomas watched as the famed paladin of Hearthglen rode off. The cries of Foster brought him back to the present and he turned to comfort both son and wife. After assuring Norah that he held no fault against her, he traded their children so he could hug Foster and reassure him as well. As he walked by the lake to collect Nathaniel from the O'Connells, Foster let out a screech and clung to his father. "Shhh," Thomas whispered. "We're done swimming for today."

On the ride back home Norah sat in the back with the children as if afraid to let any of them out of arm's reach. As they approached their homestead, Foster seemed to be over his near death experience and was happily using his mother's lap as a path for his toy horse.

Thomas thanked the Light and prayed it would continue to watch over his family.


	6. Chapter 6

_Author's Note: Our first time skip, the history blurb prior to the story is to help you figure out where in the Warcraft timeline the story takes place. The events mentioned may or may not have any actual play in the tale itself.

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_

_In year 598 of the King's Calendar – A year has passed since the orc-assassin killed King Llane of Stormwind, and orcs overtook the city. King Terenas of Lordaeron calls the other human kings together to discuss the Horde and Stormwind. Backed by Daelin Proudmoore of Kul Tiras, he moves that the humans unite to save the Stormwind people and remove the Horde from the land. Kul Tiras, Dalaran and Alterac are agreeable, while Gilneas and Stromgarde are hesitant. The orcs move north into Khaz Modan, and the Ironforge dwarves contact the humans for help. The dwarves of Ironforge and their allies, the gnomes, join the Alliance. The high elves, longtime allies of the human nations, add their bows and magic to the growing arsenal. The Wildhammer dwarves, due to Horde aggression and high elf appeal, also join. The Second War begins._

**Chapter Six - **_Thomas Conway, Age 30_

The wind felt good against his sweat soaked skin, he was glad for the moment of refreshment as well as the rain clouds that the current was bringing in. "Let's hurry up and finish getting this field planted," he said to the man raking soil over the seeds he was scattering.

"The rain is much needed," the other replied. He stood up from his backbreaking work and wiped a handkerchief over his own sweaty brow.

Grant Paxton and his wife Rosemary had been working for Thomas for the past few months. They were refugees from Stormwind, driven out by orcs when the city fell. Their arrival had been well timed; with four small ones under her feet Norah had little chance to help him in the fields that had grown to include corn and a small apple orchard. The farmhouse had also grown it was now two stories, though it didn't have the library or sewing room he promised his wife five years ago. It did however have proper bedrooms for the boys, Janice, a nursery for the three year old twins, Sara and Jenna, as well as a suitable bedroom for their parents.

The Paxtons dined with them for now and slept in what had been the tack room in the barn. They were working on building them a cottage, when the fields allowed, so they could live like civilized folks.

"Wags come on boy!"

The shout came from the direction of the house, Thomas and Grant watched as Foster and the dog in question ran toward them. Trailing behind the dark headed boy was his fair headed and skinned brother. No matter how much time the child was in the sun, he remained pale.

"Foster, wait for your brother!" Thomas yelled.

He could see the seven-year-old's eyes roll as he paused, then grabbing Nathaniel's hand hurried toward field, practically dragging his brother behind him. Once they reached him, Foster let go and climbed over the fence surrounding the field. Nathaniel crawled under the lowest bar, dusting his hands against his pants as he stood.

"How was school today?" Grant asked as he went back to raking.

"It went okay, I guess, sir," Foster said with a shrug. "I learn more from Ma and Pa though."

Thomas patted him on the head and then handed Foster the pail with the wheat seeds, there was only a handful left. "Can you finish this pass for me? Just keep throwing it until you reach the fence there at the end of the row." Scooping down he picked Nathaniel up, he kissed the fair cheek leaving behind a smudge of dirt.

"Papa!" Arms that were just now losing their baby fat hugged him around the neck.

"Hey, kiddo, you been good for your ma?" Thomas asked.

"Yes, Papa," Nathaniel answered. "I helped make bread!"

"I bet that will be tasty," Thomas said as he walked over to a fence post and standing Nathaniel on it, he turned around so his son could hold onto him from behind, piggyback style. The child weighed nothing, and held on easily that Thomas could continue working. He grabbed a second rake and helped Grant finish burying the last of the seeds.

"Scary-Crow keep the birds away, right Papa?" Nathaniel asked.

"That's scarecrow," Foster corrected with a smirk as he walked back with his empty pail.

Only Thomas could hear the frustrated sigh from Nathaniel, as his little hands tightened a bit around his neck. "Yes," he replied. "The Scary-Crow will keep our fields safe," he said. "You boys did a great job decorating this one. I doubt we'll see any crows from here to Stratholme."

Grant took the rake from his hand. "I'll finish up here," he said. "Why don't you and the boys head back and get washed up. I'll see you at dinner."

"Alright," Thomas said. "If you don't mind …"

"I'm your hired hand not the other way around," Grant replied with a smile. "You could try to be a bit more commanding."

"Are you saying I'm too soft?" Thomas asked with a grin. It was hard if not impossible to treat Grant as anything but an equal, he and his wife were slightly older than he.

"I'm saying for a boss I could have done a lot worse," Grant said. "Thanks for taking me and Rosemary in, just want to do right by you."

"You have many times over already, my friend," Thomas said. Then with a nod of his head he took Foster's hand and walked back to the house.

They had installed an outdoor shower which Thomas made quick use of; there was no way to heat the water so it was chilly and straight out of the well. However, on days like today it felt good. He soaped up and rinsed off, frowning at the stubble he found on his cheeks, he'd have to shave soon. Norah never seemed in 'the mood' when he was scratchy as she liked to call him. Wrapping a towel around himself he stepped out of the shower. Foster and Nathaniel were playing in the sandbox nearby, he came out just in time to watch Foster dump a bucket of sand over his brother's head.

"Foster Wilson Conway!" Norah shouted from the porch. His wife seemed more upset than Nathaniel who just shook his head, showering his brother and went back to playing. His wife marched over to Foster. "Tell him you're sorry!"

"Sorry …" Foster mumbled.

"It's okay," Nathaniel replied not looking up from where he was digging in the sand with a stick.

Norah swatted Foster on the bottom with the wooden spoon she held. "Playtime is over for you, young man, get yourself inside."

As Foster ran pass him, Thomas could see the young man was livid. He would have to have a talk with his eldest. However, he had a more pressing matter to attend to. Norah was busy clucking and fussing over Nathaniel as she tried to unsuccessfully get the sand out of his hair. "I have him, my wife," he said as he picked up his son who let out a giggle.

"Papa wet!"

"As will you be in a moment," he said, returning to the shower room.

Nathaniel was not as happy as Thomas had been with the cold water but as was his nature he didn't complain and let his father wash him down. Thomas noticed a bruise on the pale backside. "Did you fall down?" he asked.

Nathaniel shook his head as his fingers played with the ring on the chain around his neck, a sign that he was nervous. Thomas turned the shower off and knelt down wrapping his son in a fresh towel. "How did you get the ouchie?" he asked.

"I was bad …" Nathaniel whispered.

Thomas was taken back, hearing Nathaniel being bad was about as surprising as hearing a cat bark, the boy had the most gentle and mild manner. "What did you do?" he asked.

"I broke it …" Nathaniel burst out in tears. "It was an accident, it was up on a shelf, and I knew I shouldn't touch it … I just wanted to see … Foster got mad …"

"Wait," Thomas said. "Foster did this?"

"I was bad," Nathaniel said, "bad boys get spanked."

A torment of emotions went through Thomas's mind, from rage to despair. Jealousy was common among siblings, he had hoped the boys would forge a relationship that blood denied them Gathering Nathaniel up in his arms he hugged him close. "You're a good boy, my son, such a good boy."

Carrying his son into the house he sat him down, Norah and Rosemary were working in the kitchen, Janice and the twins were playing on the floor as Foster sat sulking at the table. "Foster come with me," Thomas said. "Nathaniel, you go get dressed for dinner, be careful going up the stairs your feet may be wet."

"Yes, Papa," Nathaniel replied.

Thomas motioned for Foster to follow him back to Norah and his bedroom. As he got dressed the child leaned against the wall with a look mixed between defiance and fear. As his fingers grasped his belt he paused and Foster took a deep breath. "Bad boys get spanked," Thomas said, as he slipped the belt through his loops of his pants. "That is what Nathaniel told me."

The look of guilt was written all over Foster's face. "He broke my toy soldier the one I got for my birthday!" he finally shouted.

"You know he adores you," Thomas said calmly. "He wants to be just like you …"

"I hate him!" Foster shouted. "Everyone loves him, he's such a baby!'

"I love you, Foster," Thomas said calmly. "I know being the big brother isn't always that much fun … but someday you'll understand. I need to be able to count on you to protect and watch out for not only Nathaniel but the girls."

Foster didn't reply and looked down at his shoes.

"How can I make it easier for you, my son?" Thomas asked.

The child looked confused for a moment. "Everywhere I go it's me and Nathaniel, when I go out to play it's me and Nathaniel, when we go to town it's me and Nathaniel, when I go to bed it's me and Nathaniel …" As he talked the anger left his voice.

"We don't have the means of adding any more bedrooms," Thomas said. "I'll talk to your ma and see if we move your brother's bed in with Janice for the time being. In the long run it makes more sense for you two boys to room together but if you need a breather, I'll see what I can do."

Foster looked up at his father surprised, he had expected to be punished or yelled at, instead he had gotten reason and an avenue for the anger that had been eating at him.

"Alright," Thomas said heading for the door. "Dinner is about ready, but before I let you go there is one more thing …"

"Yes, Pa?" Foster asked.

"If you ever strike your brother or any of sisters again, I'll return the favor tenfold. You may not like it but you are to protect them from harm, not inflict it upon them." He didn't wait for a reply and walked out into the hall and into the kitchen to speak to Norah about the new living arrangements.


	7. Chapter 7

_Author's Note: Our first switch away from Thomas's perspective, this will become more common as the tale progresses and his children age.

* * *

_

**Chapter Seven - **_Foster Conway, Age 7_

Foster hopped down from the back of the wagon driven by Joseph Redpath. The red-headed man had long since outgrown school but his younger sister, Marlene, was only a year old than Foster and they often gave him a ride home after school. Waving and voicing he thanks for the lift he headed up the road toward the house. School had been fun today, he'd never admit it aloud but he enjoyed the learning. It had been a few days since Pa had talked to him. Janice and Nathaniel loved sharing a room it seemed and he was most certainly enjoying not sharing a room with his brother.

He loved walking into the house, it always smelled so good … today it smelled like cookies and he was excited to see some cooling on the table. "I'm home, Ma!" he shouted as he walked over to the treats.

"Just two, young man!" came the shouted reply from upstairs. Setting his books down, he grabbed a set of cookies and glanced around. Nathaniel, Janice and Sara were on the floor playing with blocks. Well the two older ones were trying to build towers and Sara was having a lot of fun knocking them over. Janice and Nathaniel would just laugh alongside the youngest and start building again.

"Ma, going to go help Pa in the fields!" He shouted up the stairs.

"They are in the orchard today," his mother said as she came down holding Jenna. "Take your brother with you, if he wants to go."

Sighing Foster glanced over at Nathaniel who met his gaze for a brief moment and then looked away. "I want to play with blocks," he said softly to Foster's surprise and delight.

"All right," he said running out the door. "I'll be back later!"

Racing out behind the barn he came to the coppice of apple trees. His pa had told him it would still be a couple more years before there would be apples to eat. He wondered what they were doing out here. He found Mrs. Rosemary first; she was using shears to cut off some of the smaller branches. "Watcha, doing that for?" he asked.

"It will help them produce more fruit when they are older," she replied with a smile. "Can you gather up these twigs and take them to the burn pile? Your pa should be over there."

"Yes ma'am," he replied, doing as she asked. He found his father in front of large pile of sticks; he added his own bunch to it.

"Thank you, son," his pa said giving him a squeeze on the shoulder. Foster loved the attention. "Do well in school?"

"Yes, sir," he replied.

"Ditch your baby brother with Rosemary?"

"He didn't want to come outside," Foster replied with a shrug.

"Again?" His father frowned. "He hasn't been to the fields in days."

"Guess he really likes spending time with Janice," Foster said.

"Perhaps," his pa said. "Can you go gather up some more sticks, there should be small piles scattered through out the orchard."

Nodding Foster ran off to help. As he did so he thought about what his father had said. It seemed like since the sandbox incident he had lost his shadow. Nathaniel used to be the first one to greet him when he got home, now his brother barely acknowledged him. Janice liked having an extra person to dress up, seemed like a winning situation to Foster for all involved. By the time the sticks had been gathered the sky was starting to darken.

"Thanks for your help," Grant said as he and Rosemary walked back with Foster to the house.

"You're welcome, sir," Foster said. He hadn't gotten dirty enough for a shower before eating but he did use the pump with Rosemary's help to wash up. As they were finishing they heard a yelp and loud barking coming from the chicken coop.

"Wonder if Wags managed to catch that damn weasel," Grant said. Foster followed him to where the commotion was. Wags appeared with something long and furry in his mouth.

"Good boy, Wags," Grant said patting the large dog on the head. "I hate those damn hen killing rats."

"Hate them?" A quiet voice asked.

Foster glanced over at where Nathaniel had appeared.

"Yeah," Grant said walking away and letting the dog do what he wanted with the dead critter. "They are just vermin that steal your chickens, useless …"

Foster was confused at the hurt look that flashed across Nathaniel's face as his brother turned and hurried back into the house.

Grant shrugged, "probably confused it with one of those cats running around, now those are another set of pests all together."

"That's enough, honey," Rosemary said with a laugh. "Foster, you're all cleaned up, why don't you head in, we'll be there shortly."

Inside Foster found his sisters playing with dolls but his brother was no where to be found, when he asked his ma mentioned he had ran upstairs. Foster found his brother sitting on his bed, his back against the wall and knees pressed up against him. He played with the chain around his neck. Across the room was Janice's bed, with toys scattered between. Nathaniel glanced up when he came to the door but then kept his eyes downcast.

"It wasn't a cat," Foster said. "Wags wouldn't kill the cats …"

"I know," Nathaniel said quietly.

Foster hung out at the door, something felt wrong. "It was just a stupid weasel …"

"You hate it?" Nathaniel asked, not looking up.

"Yeah," Foster said. "They eat our chickens, steal the eggs … I hate them."

"Wish they were dead?"

Foster frowned. "Well, I guess … I mean if they left our chickens alone I don't care what they did …" A choked sob escaped from between Nathaniel's legs and Foster startled, he took a step into the room.

"Go away," Nathaniel whispered.

Foster froze and then with a nod of his head went back downstairs. Dinner had been put on the table and he sat at his place. It was at the far end away from the boring talk of the adults.

"Nathaniel," his mother called up the stairs, "dinner time!"

The rest of the family, along with Grant and Rosemary gathered at the table. When Nathaniel didn't appear his father shouted again. A long moment passed and the adults looked at one another. Foster jumped up. "I'll go get him!" he said racing upstairs. He found Nathaniel where he had left him. "Dinner time," he said.

"Not hungry," Nathaniel replied.

"Going to make Pa mad if you don't come down," Foster pleaded. "Are you sick? If you are, Ma is going to make you drink that awful medicine of hers."

"Go away," Nathaniel said.

"Please come downstairs," Foster said, his confusion growing.

"GO AWAY!" Nathaniel shouted.

Foster took a step back and into the legs standing behind him. His father squeezed his shoulder and patted his head. "Go eat dinner, son," he said. Then he stepped into the bedroom and shut the door behind him.

That night Foster lay in bed but he didn't sleep. There was a storm outside and the wind blew against the windows. That wasn't what kept him awake, though. Nathaniel had never joined them for dinner nor had he seen him the rest of the evening. His ma and pa had taken turns sitting with his brother and at some point in the evening gotten him to drink some chicken broth which put their minds to ease. Lightning caused the room to light up for a moment. Foster kept expecting to feel a warm body crawl into bed beside him. Nathaniel hated thunderstorms and would often join him in bed on nights there were storms He had left his door open just in case and watched it, waiting for the small shadow to appear. The large clock downstairs chimed three times and Foster sighed.

Slipping out of bed he snuck into the room beside his, in the storm's light he could see Janice sleeping. Nathaniel's bed was empty. Frowning Foster checked around the room and his sister's bed but was pretty sure his brother wasn't in it. He glanced into the nursery but only found the twins. Quietly he made his way downstairs, and after making sure Nathaniel wasn't in the living space he crept to his parents' room. The door was closed, biting his lip Foster stood outside it for a long moment. Nathaniel was probably sleeping with them; he should go and get some sleep himself. He started to turn away but stopped, he wouldn't be able to rest unless he knew. Quietly opening the unlocked door he slipped inside.

He glanced at the sleeping forms in bed, he couldn't tell if Nathaniel was with them or not and snuck closer. He only counted two heads on the pillows, his heart started to race. Risk seemed trivial now and he walked over to his father and placed a hand on his arm. "Pa?" he whispered.

His father was instantly alert. "Foster?" he said, the boy could hear his mother sitting up.

"Where is Nathaniel?" Foster asked.

"Sleeping with Janice," his father said, "like you asked."

"He's not," Foster said. "I checked because he'd be scared of the storm … he's not in his bed …"

His father sat up and rubbed the top of his son's head like he does. "Your baby brother is about as tame as a new born kitten; he's probably just curled up somewhere." As he talked he pulled on his pants. "Let me light a lantern and we'll go find him, go back to sleep Norah I'm sure everything is fine."

As his mother settled back into bed, his father lit a lantern and ushered Foster out of the bedroom. In the warm glow of the light they went back upstairs and into the bedroom Nathaniel shared with his sister. His father found what Foster already knew an empty bed. Using the lantern his father looked under the bed and in the closet.

"Papa?" Janice said sleepily as she sat up.

"Sorry to wake you, my flower, we seemed to have misplaced your brother," his father said with a smile but Foster picked up an undertone in his voice. "Is Nathaniel sleeping with you?"

"No, Papa …"

"Okay, sweetie, go back to sleep, it is okay." His father said as he walked out to the hallway, Foster followed. Glancing back he noticed Janice sitting on her bed holding one of her dolls close. Next they did a search of Foster's room with the same result, and then it was on to the twins' room. Once again they turned up empty-handed; his father lost all pretense of being calm as he hurried down the stairs. His quick footsteps brought Ma to the living space; Foster watched the two adults exchange a look.

"Nathaniel!" His mother shouted.

His three sisters woken from their sleep were lined up along the banister. "Mama?" Janice said worried.

"Nathaniel, answer your mother," his father said loudly, "the game is over."

In the glow of the lantern Foster noticed something he hadn't seen before and he pointed. "Papa, the front door is open!"


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight - **_Thomas Conway, Age 30_

"Light some more lanterns, Norah," Thomas said. He had dressed quickly and was putting on a coat to battle against the storm raging outside.

"Find him," Norah said as she did as he asked. Her inner strength was showing as she kept herself in check and gathered the girls on the coach under a warm quilt.

Foster came tearing down the stairs dressed. "I'm coming too!" he declared.

"You are not!" Norah snapped.

"He's out there because of me," Foster pleaded. "I was mean to him. I shouldn't have been … I'm his brother. He needs me!"

Norah looked over at Thomas and he nodded. She grabbed an over-sized rain slicker and wrapped Foster up in it. Then she handed her son one of the freshly lit lamps. "Be careful," she said giving him a hug.

Foster nodded and ran for the door; Thomas went with him trying his best to follow his wife's calm front. Nathaniel was so small and the downpour continued outside. At least there hadn't been any wolf sightings near the farm lately. He should have done more, earlier in the evening, his young son had seemed so distant, so unlike himself. He had blamed it on his true mother's blood … he should have done more instead of chalking it up to boys being boys.

"Nathaniel!" Foster shouted into the darkness.

"Go check the barn," Thomas instructed him. "Wake the Paxtons, maybe he nestled down with them."

Foster nodded and ran over to the barn. Soon the night air was filled with three voices calling, Rosemary had joined the girls in the house to wait.

"I'm sorry, Nathaniel," Foster cried out into the night. "I love you, you're my brother … my only one … please come back."

The shouts went unanswered, after about an hour of searching in the freezing rain Thomas led a sobbing Foster back into the house to warm up in his mother's arms. Leaving him there he went back out into the storm, for a moment he stood still and looked around, the icy water splattering on his face. It hid the warm tears. He saw Grant come out of the barn, after another fruitless search. "Please, please let him be somewhere warm and safe," Thomas prayed.

Grant ran over to him. "Where do we look next?" he asked.

The sun was just starting to come up. "I need you to take one of the horses and get us some help; head to Darrowshire … keep your eyes open as your ride."

"All right," Grant said. "We'll find him. He's just a babe he couldn't have walked too far in this storm; he's squirreled up somewhere I'm sure."

The rain continued through the morning but it didn't deter the help. Soon their little homestead was a flurry of activity. The older women of Darrowshire took over the house, to comfort Norah and help with watching the young ones. The men and some of women gathered out in front of the house. Thomas separated them into search groups and sent them in various directions

"Are you sure the babe ran off on his own?" Carlin asked. The eldest Redpath was now twenty; Thomas noted the young man's hairline was going to share the same fate as his father. "I mean … you sure no one took him? That might broaden our search area if so."

"He had been out of sorts last night," Thomas said. "I think Daisy or Wags would have warned us if someone came into the house …" His voice trailed off. "The dogs … they're gone … why didn't I notice?" He let out a shrill whistle but it went unanswered. "The dogs are with him, I'm sure of it … Nathaniel may not call out to us for one reason or another but the dogs will. Go, tell folks to call out for the dogs as well as Nathaniel!"

Carlin nodded and he and the few others gathered around scattered in various directions. For a long moment Thomas just stood in the middle of the farm. Where hadn't he looked? Turning his head up into the rain he whispered, "Please, my lady, I'm sure you're watching over your son right now. Please, show me where he is."

There was no divine answer, and with a deep sigh he turned north, his eyes watching the ground for any signs of little feet. It was now full light outside but the heavy rain clouds kept the sun hidden. The forest echoed with shouts of Nathaniel's name, why didn't he answer? What was going through the child's mind that caused him to runaway? Another hour passed and he found himself on the shore of Lake Mereldar. He scanned the lake with dread looking for anything out of the norm. At that moment he heard a howl in the distance, it was coming from the southern mountain range. The weariness faded and Thomas raced toward the sound. Maybe it hadn't been Wags, perhaps it was a wolf or someone else's dog, but Thomas had to hope, he'd run out of the heart to do anything else.

He let out a shrill whistle as he ran; it was answered by a distant bark. The sounds of a horse racing behind him caused him to pause. Joseph Redpath slid of his chestnut mare and gave the reins to Thomas. "Go!" he said.

Nodding his thanks Thomas swung up on the saddle and urged the horse onward. Soon he encountered the jagged cliffs of the mountain side and before he could call his dog he noticed a small crowd of people. He hurried that direction, Grant was with them and he saw his approach. "We think we found him!" he shouted.

"Think?" Thomas shouted back.

Grant pointed up the rocky cliff and Thomas spotted Wags standing on a tiny ledge, halfway up the mountain. As he slid off the horse, he realized why the crowd wasn't confirming their suspicions. The heavy rain from last night had caused a mudslide; there wasn't a clear path up to the dog. Wags got excited at the sight of his master and started to dance around his precarious ridge, his hind leg slipped and he let out a yelp scrambling back up and into a small crevice Thomas had failed to see at first look.

"Nathaniel, are you up there?" Thomas shouted. When he received no answer he tried again, "Nathaniel Conway, you answer your pa right this instant!"

Wags large head peered over the edge and around his neck were two pale, dirt streaked arms. Nathaniel looked down at the crowd, his face muddy and his thin sleeping shirt wet and clinging to him. The joy of seeing his son alive was quickly replaced by the fear of his situation. "Papa …"

"Yes, my son, Papa is here … you hold onto Wags really tight and stay in that cave we'll get you down," Thomas yelled back. He looked at the barren mountainside. "Somehow," he whispered.

"Papa, Daisy hurt," Nathaniel called down.

"It will be okay," Thomas replied.

"I tried to climb it," Grant said at his side. "It just caused more rocks and dirt to fall … Whatever path he took up there has been washed away. Maybe we can get to him from above?"

"Fan out," Thomas said. "Look for a way up, but be safe … don't do anything reckless."

"Papa?" Nathaniel's small voice called down again. "Papa, I cold and wet …"

"Hold onto Wags," Thomas called back up. "He'll keep you warm."

"By the Light …" He turned to find his wife standing at his side. "Nathaniel!"

"Mama?" his son yelled as Wags was pushed out of the way.

"Nathaniel, no!" Thomas shouted.

The large dog lost his footing as he was forced out of the cave, with a yelp that would haunt Thomas's nightmares for nights to come; he tumbled down the edge of the cliff landing with a sickening thud at the feet of his master. Nathaniel was snatched by his shirt and dragged back inside as the ledge crumbled by Daisy.

"Watch out!" Grant shouted, grabbing Thomas and Norah by the arms he pulled them back as the mountain side crumbled. When the dust cleared Wags had been buried under the dirt and rock. Nathaniel's haven miraculously stayed exposed, for a moment Thomas was afraid he had been buried along side his faithful pet.

"Papa!" Nathaniel's cry was frantic.

"Stay still, my son," Thomas called back up, "please just stay still."

"Oh, Thomas, what are we going to do?" Norah said at his side. "There is no way we're going to reach him unless we grow wings and fly."

"Griffons," Joseph Redpath said at his side.

"What?" Thomas asked confused.

"Griffons they can fly …" the young man said.

"So can birds but I don't think we can convince one to come and get our son for us," Thomas said bitterly.

"The Wildhammer Clan in Aerie Peak," Joseph said, "they're a clan of dwarves, the griffons there are like pets to them, at least that is what I was told."

"Aerie Peak," Thomas said, "It will take a month to reach it …"

"No," Carlin Redpath said, stepping up beside his brother. "There is a pass, behind Caer Darrow, leads straight into the mountains. My brother and I could make it in a day's time I know it. The griffon can fly back even faster …"

"And why would the dwarves help us?" Thomas asked.

"There is talk they joined the alliance, they would have to …" Joseph said. "Plus he's just a babe; there is no way any one with a heart would say no."

"Go," Thomas said. "Please, you're the only chance he has."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine - **_Thomas Conway, Age 30_

The day had passed painstakingly slow, the rain finally cleared up around lunchtime. Thomas had tried to send people away once his son was located but they refused to leave. The women had helped cook meals for everyone and the men started a large fire below the cliff side once the rain stopped. Grant had taken care of the farm animals at some point. Thomas just stood or sat at the edge of the mountain that held his son. He had shrugged off the blanket someone draped over his shoulders, if Nathaniel couldn't have the warmth of it, neither would he.

At one point in the morning his young son had become frantic, begging for his papa to come get him and there was nothing he could do but shout useless encouragement. The worry grew when the small cave became silent but Thomas refused to yell out hoping Nathaniel had given into his exhaustion and was napping during those moments. It was sometime after lunch, Thomas was sitting on the ground his arms and head resting on his knees, when two small arms wrapped around his neck from behind. He turned to find his red-headed daughter, Janice, nestled up against him. "What are you doing here, baby girl?" he asked picking her up and placing him on his lap. Only then did he take the nearby blanket and wrap them both in it.

"Foster brings me," she said, pointing to her older brother who was standing near the blazing fire, looking up at the cave his young mind lost in thought.

"Papa!"

Thomas watched Foster startle at Nathaniel's cry as he called out, "I'm here, my son, did you take a nap?"

"Papa … Daisy having babies!"

"Oh great," Thomas whispered. "Just let her be then, Nathaniel," he shouted. "Mommy dogs get grumpy when they are having babies.

"It's yucky," came the reply and Thomas had to grin.

"Nathaniel!" Foster yelled.

"Brother?" Thomas tried not to be concerned at the fact the voice of his trapped son was growing weaker.

"I love you, you're my brother … my only one … I'm sorry I was mean …"

"You don't hate me no more?"

"I never hated you," Foster shouted. "I was stupid …"

"You said it," Nathaniel cried down his small voice breaking. "I heard you … you hate weasels too wish they were dead …"

Foster's face crumbled and Thomas quickly stood. Still carrying Janice, he ran over to his son wrapping him up in his free arm. "He's just a babe," he said, "he doesn't understand."

"I'm sorry," Foster shouted. "I love you."

"Love you too," Nathaniel shouted back. "Papa, there is another puppy … one … two … three … four … five puppies Papa!"

A weight seemed to lift off Foster's shoulders and he stood a little taller. "What are we going to name them?" he hollered.

"I no know if they girls or boys!" Nathaniel replied.

Thomas relaxed a bit himself as the boys shouted back names to each other, Janice joining in. His moment of peace was short lived when his son once again called to him begging to go home.

"I'm sorry, my son," he shouted back. "We can't reach you. Help is coming; I need you to be brave a little longer."

The hours dragged by. Norah came and collected Janice at one point but Foster refused to leave, hovering close to his father and the other men. Against his will Thomas found his eyes drifting shut from exhaustion. Night had settled in and thankfully the sky was clear, a thousand stars twinkled. A gentle hand on his shoulder shook him awake during a napping moment. "Your son is calling for you," Grant said.

"I'm here," Thomas shouted.

"Papa, I don't feel good … can I come home yet?" Nathaniel called down. "I'll be good I promise."

Emotions overcame him and Thomas dropped to the ground covering his face with his hands as he sobbed. Foster's arms wrapped around his shoulders, "it will be okay Papa," he said.

Suddenly there was a loud cry in the night sky.

"Look!" someone shouted.

Thomas followed the pointed arm and saw a dozen stars swooping in closer from the west. No they weren't stars they were lit torches, soon the night air was filled with the flutter of a dozen wings.

"The dwarves!" Foster shouted.

Thomas stood as one of the mighty griffons landed on the ground beside the fire. He had seen dwarves before so wasn't surprised by the undersized man that slid of the beast's back. However, it was the first time Foster had seen a descendant of the earthen. "I'm taller than you!" he gasped.

The new arrival eyed his son for a long moment and then turned toward Thomas. "Thane Kurdran sends his regards," the stout dwarf said, his voice thick with the accent of his people.

"Thank the Light," Thomas said, dropping to his knees. Around them five more dwarves landed on the back of their graceful griffons. "Please, my son has been trapped up in the mountain since last night, he's just a babe."

A callused hand gripped his shoulder. "We'll get the wee one out, no worries, lad," the dwarf said. "No mountain has ever stopped a dwarf from Wildhammer." He turned to the others of his clan. "Truk and Claira fly as close as you can to the wee one's haven, see what we have to work with. Agnar and Drakk test the stability of the mountain, see if we'll be able to use chocks safely to climb."

Thomas could only stand back and watch as the dwarves went to work. It seemed more prudent to stay out of their way than offer any aid. The two sent to scout his son's location returned and spoke to their leader for a moment. The female of the pair, Claira, started to take off her armor, revealing brilliant blue tattoos on either side of her face, down each of her cheeks. Soon she was dressed in simple leathers. She took a small pouch offered to her and a shield and then climbed behind the dwarf named Truk on a griffon. The pair took off again and circled the small cave.

"Tell ye son to get as far back into the cave as he can," the dwarf leader instructed.

"Nathaniel, are you awake?" Thomas shouted.

"Papa?" The small voice called down. "Papa, there a big bird outside!"

"They are here to rescue you," Thomas replied. "I need you to move you and Daisy as far back as you can."

"Daisy?" the dwarf asked at his side.

"Our dog," Thomas said. "And I guess she had puppies up there too."

The stout man shook his head and shouted the information to the two dwarves circling over head. Suddenly the griffon dove towards the cave, at the last moment Claira jumped off and slid into the hole. Her landing caused a mild rockslide but she used the shield she held to block the opening like a door. Once it was over she released the shield and let it bounce down the cliff.

Thomas's relief almost overwhelmed him; his son was finally not alone. "She brought supplies with her for the wee one." The dwarf at his side said, "And some ale for herself, to keep her company."

"Maz!" The shout came from the woman in the cave. "The dog up here is stiff in death; the puppies are still warm, the wee one has been holding them close. The lad, doesn't want me too, but going to move the momma out."

A short moment later Daisy's still body tumbled down the hill. Foster let out a cry and ran over to her, but the dwarf had been right she had long since left this world. Some of the men standing by helped move the dog out of the way and the dwarves continued to work.

"Sir," Foster said approaching the seemly leader of the dwarves. "Couldn't you just fly him down with your griffon?"

Maz glanced over at the question, Thomas moved to pull his son away but the dwarf raised his hand and shook his head. "Does seem like that would be the easiest, doesn't it lad? Well, you see for a griffon to keep flight it must move its wings, which would cause loose rocks to fall or worse. Claira could jump with the wee one on her back, she's an expert rider but dwarves aren't exactly made for jumping. Nay, just give us a bit more time; we'll have the babe down soon. Agnar, what do we have to work with?"

A dwarf with a bright red beard and tattoos to match down his arms answered. "The loose dirt here is several feet deep it would take us a few days to clear it out. But Truk says there is a ledge that looks solid about a hundred feet above the fissure. Thinking that is our best bet for a quick rescue, Maz."

"All right," Maz said. "Truk, Harggan, and Drakk you get started, I don't trust the weight of the ridge with all of us. Agnar you tend to the griffons …" Pausing he glanced over at Thomas. "The griffons are hungry from their flight, fresh meat is the best. If you have some extra …"

"I'd clear my storeroom for you," Thomas said. He glanced up at the cave.

Maz followed the look. "How's the wee one, Claira?" He shouted.

"I cleaned him up, wrapped him a fresh tunic. He ate a little, drank a lot and is now sleeping in my lap as are the lil fur balls. The babe insisted to share his drink with them."

Nodding his thanks for the information Thomas hurried back to the homestead. He gave his wife the welcomed news; the children had already fallen asleep, worn out from the day. She helped wrap up some shanks of venison. He took a moment to voice his thanks to the women sitting in the living space, some with sleeping children in their arms.

"You would do the same for us," Tessa Redpath said. "Go, we'll keep the hearth lit for you."

Shouldering his bulging pack he rushed back to the mountain. The dwarf named Agnar voiced his approval of the food he brought and tossed the meat to the hungry griffons that tore it apart. Foster and Grant appeared with buckets of water that were given to the winged animals afterwards. Then it was back to waiting as the dwarves slowly made their way down the mountainside, with only the light from the fire below to work from.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten – **_Foster Conway, Age 7_

Foster awoke; it took a moment to realize he wasn't in his bed. Instead he was lying on the ground, his head in his father's lap and a coat not his own thrown over him to keep the chill away. Glancing up he found his pa's eyes closed, his chin resting on his chest. The young man lay still so not to awake him and looked over at the mountain. The dwarves had done wonders in the night. In the rising sun he could see ropes tied off here and there crisscrossing the mountainside. Where ever the dwarves could find solid rock to hold a peg. His eyes widen when he realized there was a dwarf carefully working his way down a rope hanging from Nathaniel's cave, on his back was a tightly wrapped bundle.

The boss dwarf caught his eye and winked, holding a finger up to his lips. A couple of men from Darrowshire helped the dwarf coming down the mountainside the last few feet. The bundle was unwrapped to reveal Nathaniel. Maz took his brother and walked over, gently placing him in Pa's lap as Foster slid off with a grin. Nathaniel sat still for a long moment then finally reached up and touched their father's cheek. "Papa all scratchy," he said.

Foster watched his pa's eyes open, there was the briefest moment of wonderment then his father let out a yell of joy, startling the young boy in his lap. His father's cry was echoed by those around him. Running over Foster joined in a three-way hug, kissing Nathaniel on the cheek.

Nathaniel looked around. "Puppies," he said.

"Right here, lad," the female dwarf, Claire, said approaching and opening a bag to reveal a squirmy mass of yipping hairless wrinkly pups. "They don't have a momma anymore," she said, "you're going to have to take good care of them."

"Me will," Nathaniel replied.

There was a scream of delight as their mother ran up; taking Nathaniel in her arms she smothered him with kisses. Foster was glad it wasn't him as his brother struggled against her arms. "Down," he wailed.

"No," Ma replied as she continued to hug him to her. "Thank you, thank you, thank you all …" she said, her face wet with tears. Foster knew she was crying because she was happy.

The dwarves grinned. "Glad we could help," Maz said. Nathaniel reached for the stout man and Ma let him go, though half his size Maz was able to hold the child with ease in his arms.

Nathaniel ran a hand down the dwarf's beard. "Scratchy," he said with a laugh.

"Aye, lad it is that," Foster picked up a change in the dwarf's demeanor as he study his brother's face. Maz glanced over at his pa. "He's your son?"

"Yes, sir," his pa answered taking Nathaniel from the dwarf; he held him up in the air and rubbed his brother's nose to his own before settling on his hip.

"He has the most unusual eyes," the dwarf mentioned.

"Yes, sir," Foster said, "we call them star-kissed because they glow."

"I'd call them elfin," Maz said. "We have a group of High Elves we share our lands with …"

"He's my son," his pa said, there was an edge to his voice that Foster had never heard before.

The dwarf and his pa exchanged a long look and shorter one nodded his head. "And well loved at that. All right lads and lass finish taking the ropes down and let us take to the sky."

"Thank you," his pa called out. "If we can ever do anything in return, please let me know."

"If you come to the Hinterlands stop by," Maz said as he swung up on the back of a large griffon. "That one is going to have an interesting life; I'd like to hear more of it someday."

After they had seen the dwarves off into the blue skies, they walked back with other folks that had spent the crisis with them. His father helped Mrs. Redpath up into her saddle. "Thank your boys for their wisdom and for fetching of the dwarves, they saved Nathaniel's life."

Mrs. Redpath smiled and said she would. "We had Rosemary rest so she could watch your daughters, the rest of you should get some sleep."

"The farm won't run itself," his father said.

"We've taken care of your animals and the fields can wait a day," she replied. Then she urged her horse down the path.

After the house had emptied Foster found himself seated at the table with a puppy in his arms. He had a small bottle of milk he was trying to get it to take. There was a puppy for each child at the table; Ma and Pa were helping the twins with theirs. Nathaniel insisted they feed the puppies before anyone got the sleep Mrs. Redpath suggested.

"Going to call mine, Paws," Foster said, "he has two white paws and the rest of him is black."

"Mine is Flower," Janice said.

"What are you going to name yours?" Thomas asked his brother.

"Wags," Nathaniel replied. A tear fell down his brother's cheek as he looked down at the puppy.

"That is a fine name," their father said, rubbing the top of Nathaniel's head.

After the puppies had been fed, Foster took Nathaniel's hand. "Let's go to bed, brother."

"It's daytime!" Nathaniel said, but he didn't protest as he was led upstairs.

Stopping at Janice's room, Foster grabbed a pillow and Nathaniel's teddy bear off his bed and brought them to his room. He motioned his brother to climb into the bed and offered him his pillow and bear. Foster laid down beside him, lightly holding onto Nathaniel's arm. "No more running away, okay?" he said with a yawn. "I can't watch out for you if you're not here."

"Watch out for me?" Nathaniel asked.

"Yeah, it's what a big brother does," Foster said with a smile. "Now go to sleep."


	11. Chapter 11

_In year 603 of the King's Calendar – The orc shaman Ner'zhul, now imprisoned in ice as the Lich King, corrupts archmage Kel'Thuzad of Dalaran. Kel'Thuzad forms the Cult of the Damned, maddened mortals who are obsessed with the undead, to aid him in creating a plague of undeath._

**Chapter Eleven – **_Nathaniel Conway, Age 10_

"Hey, Nathaniel, my sister has a dress she's outgrown; want me to ask if you can have it?"

Nathaniel Conway put a hand on his brother's tense arm. "Just ignore them, not anything new."

Foster nodded and they kept walking. They had just left school at Corin's Crossing, walking alongside their sisters, Marlene Redpath who was a year older than Foster and Bethany O'Connell, who was the same age as his brother.

"How's baby Jessica doing" Nathaniel asked.

"She's great," Marlene answered. "It feels weird being an aunt."

"You ask me," Foster said with a lopsided grin. "It's even weirder thinking your brother, Joseph, as a dad."

Out of the corner of his eye Nathaniel saw a blur of moment and skillfully moved himself and his younger sister Sara out of the way. The objected aimed for his back splat on the ground. "Someone is going to be missing that egg," he said as he continued to walk.

"I don't understand," Bethany said. "Why are they so unkind to you?"

"Because they ran out of dogs to kick," Nathaniel replied with a shrug.

Those in question were brothers York and Kyle Madison, Vance Dixon and Reuben Lewis; they ranged in ages from ten to fourteen. For the past couple of months Nathaniel had been a target for their bullying but he never reacted to them and they were growing frustrated. On the other hand, Foster had reached the end of his very short rope and it took all of Nathaniel's will to keep him out of trouble.

They paused at the edge of town to say their goodbyes to Bethany, who lived in Corin's. The four boys approached and Nathaniel sighed as Foster moved to stand slightly in front of the group. His brother had taken after their pa; he was lean and muscular, from the time they spent in the field. Nathaniel had done his share of field work as well but his body seemed to lack the ability to bulk up the same way. He did however have his own attributes with agility and speed, though wasn't in the mood to flaunt either. He hoped Foster's imposing stance would keep the idiots at bay.

"Guys this is stupid, leave us alone," Foster said. He still carried Bethany's books in one hand, his own in the pack slung on his back.

"No reason to get all angry," Vance said, with an evil grin. "We just had a question."

"And what would that be?" Foster replied.

"We were just wondering," Vance said, "does your brother have a dick or a pus…"

Foster tossed the books under his arm toward Nathaniel who caught them with ease and then followed through with a fist to Vance's face. "Not in front of the ladies," Foster said as Vance fell on his bottom from the blow, blood trickling from his lip.

Handing Bethany her books, Nathaniel smiled apologetically at her. "Sorry about this," he said as the three remaining teens charged his brother. Foster dodged the clumsy punch from Kyle as he kicked York in the gut knocking him away. Nathaniel ducked under Foster's punch and tackled Reuben around the waist bringing them both the ground. He wasn't as strong as Foster but he was faster and sprung away from Reuben after delivering a knee to the groin.

'Baby brother I have this," Foster growled.

"Just evening the odds," Nathaniel replied.

At moments like this, everything moved in slow motion for Nathaniel. He seemed able to see the attacks before they happened and hear the slightest change of the wind around him, enabling him to duck and dodge blows. A similar occurrence happened when he hunted around his home. The same skill warned him of the menace behind them, which trivialized the four bullies dusting themselves off. He grabbed Foster's arm stopping him from throwing another punch. His brother looked over at him, his eyes flashing, and then saw what Nathaniel already knew.

"Fuck," he whispered.

"Very fucked," Nathaniel replied in the same hushed tone. "I'm so blaming you."

Their four opponents were a bit slower than they and started to move toward them again.

"Boys, I don't really think you want me to take this up with your fathers do you?" Nathaniel's pa said from behind him.

"He started it!" York said, pointing at Foster.

"And if my father had been five minutes slower I'd finished it to," Foster snapped back. "For the last time, leave my brother alone or I'll …"

"Or you'll what?" Their pa growled slightly.

Foster kicked the ground and fell quiet. Nathaniel didn't care for the smug looks on the teens' faces as they turned and headed back into town but he had other problems to worry about, mainly the callused hand that grasped his shoulder. "Say goodbye to Bethany and Marlene, children," their father said.

Farewells were said, the girls replied with soft goodbyes and after looks of worry, hurried into town, their heads bent together whispering.

"Get into the wagon," their pa said as he helped Janice into the seat up front, "we'll talk about this when we get home. I had come into town for supplies; you two can help me unload them." He then put Sara and Jenna on either side of their sister, who wrapped an arm around both of them.

"Yes, sir," the boys said as they tossed their packs into the wagon and climbed inside.

"Papa," Janice said, "those boys were being awfully mean to Nathaniel … Foster just did what he's been raised to do, protect us young-uns."

Their father waved his hand. "We'll talk later," he said tensely.

The ride home was a strained silence. Nathaniel fished the ring out he wore around his neck and played with it. Slipping it up and down the chain and onto his fingers, it fit his thumb, wouldn't be too much longer and he could wear it proper. Though he had only seen Mama wearing any jewelry so it was probably best to keep it tucked under his shirt when out and about. Wondering for the umpteenth time why his pa insisted he wear it, Foster and his sisters didn't have any trinkets that their parents made them wear. The standard reply was always, "You'll understand when you're older."

A soft tap on his boot brought his eyes up and Foster smiled reassuringly at Nathaniel, from where he sat across from him. His brother had a knack at making him feel safe and he slid the ring back under his shirt and returned the grin. As the wagon pulled up the lane to their house and came to a stop in front of the barn, the two boys hopped down. Foster handed Nathaniel his pack and grabbed one of the wooden boxes in the back of the cart. Shouldering both bags Nathaniel hurried into the house and dropped them down at the door inside.

"Hey, that isn't where they belong," his ma said from the chair she was knitting at.

"Sorry, Ma," Nathaniel replied. "I can't dawdle, Foster and I … well … there were these boys and … um, Pa wants to talk to us."

"I'll take them to their room," Janice said as she and the twins walked in. "You best go," she said.

Nathaniel could hear his mother sigh as he raced outside and back to the wagon. Mr. Grant and his father were removing a large wooden beam. He ducked under it and reached inside the cart to grab a couple of burlap sacks, they were heavier than he first thought and he had to resort to just taking one.

"Careful with those," his father said. "There are some peaches in there for your ma to make preserves out of."

"Yes, sir," Nathaniel said as he jogged back to the house, gently placing the bag of peaches on the kitchen floor. After telling his ma about them he ran outside and to fetch the second bag as well. However Mrs. Rosemary had beaten him to it and waved him off saying she'd take them to the kitchen and help his mother clean them.

The wagon emptied too fast for Nathaniel; soon he and Foster were standing before their disapproving father. "Boys, I told you when I started teaching you how to fight hand-to-hand it was only to be used in self-defense."

"It was …" Foster started but was cut off by their father.

"I was there, I saw you throw the first punch," he said.

"Did you hear what they said?" Foster replied defensively.

"I was too far away," their pa admitted. "I do not possess the same hearing as Nathaniel is gifted with. However, stick and stones my boys."

"They were using crude language in front of the girls," Foster said. "We told them to stop many times …"

Their father sighed and moved his gaze to where Nathaniel had been standing silently. "What is your take on the events, my son?"

The quiet boy shrugged his shoulders. "I tried to get us out of town but after it started I had to do my part."

"I didn't ask you to," Foster replied, but there was no bite to his tone.

There was no memory of his father ever raising a hand to him or any of his siblings so Nathaniel didn't fear that, the disappointment in his pa's face was enough. "I'm trying, sir," he said, "I'm trying to turn the other cheek like you taught us. It just gets so hard; they are just relentless in their attacks. Stick and stones may break bones like you say, sir, but after awhile harmful words hurt just as much." Nathaniel's cheeks flushed at the tears he felt in his eyes and he looked away.

His father knelt down in front of him. "What have they been saying?" he asked.

The blush deepened and Nathaniel felt the knot in his stomach twist, it was bad enough to hear it let alone repeat it. His brother said the words for him. "They call him a girl a lot of times, today asked if wanted to wear a dress and before … I lost my temper, asked if he had a pussy … pardon the harsh language Pa, but you asked."

"Someday soon, my son," his father said standing. "They'll see the error in their ways, when you fill out like your brother and all the girls are fawning over you."

"Icky," Nathaniel mumbled and that caused his father to laugh.

"They won't always be icky," his pa said. "All right, go help Grant with the stone wall we're building around the orchard. Put those muscles of yours to good use."

"Pa?" Foster asked.

"Yes, son?"

"If they throw the first punch, we're allowed to counter right?" he asked.

"Only if it's done by fists, not by words," their pa said. "Now get to work, oh and no dessert tonight for either of you."

"Yes, sir," they said in unison as they jogged in the direction of the orchard.

"At least we still get dinner," Foster said quietly.

"Aye," Nathaniel agreed, "Pa was in a generous mood."


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve – **_Thomas Conway, Age 35_

Thomas watched his boys run off, though two years younger than Foster, Nathaniel stood just a tall but he did posses the slender body of his birth mother. His disheveled blond hair was slightly longer than Foster's but Norah feared if they cut it too short the tips of his ears may show before she could correct them. However, it probably did facilitate his younger son to look more feminine, or truth be told elfin.

Though the Second War ended a few years ago, the High Elves were still committed to the young Alliance. And their presence while rare was more common than it had been in the past. He had shield Nathaniel from them their last trip to Stratholme but soon someone would make the connection between his son's telltale eyes and those of the elves. They would accuse Norah of bearing a half-breed bastard and Thomas would not see that shame brought upon his wife. When he pressured her to let him tell the lad the truth Norah would put him off, when he's older … don't upset the boat … he's happy …were always the reply. Truth be told, like him, she was afraid they would lose him to people they knew nothing about.

As he grew, Nathaniel was bound to see more differences between him and his family. His birthright had already given him better ears and eyes than mere humans, which aided him to become a very skilled huntsman. There was also the matter of his age, as far as Thomas could figure out there would come a time that Nathaniel would stop aging the same rate as the rest of them. It hadn't happened yet, thankfully, but elves though not immortal lived a very long time. And Thomas had never seen an old elf yet, at least based on appearances. What if Nathaniel didn't age from this day forward for another forty years how were they going to explain a forever child? Thomas sighed, didn't do any good to worry about the 'what ifs'. He headed to the barn; there was stock to be fed.

That evening's dinner was its normal boisterous event, with the children trying to talk over one another. The Paxtons, who now had their own cottage, still joined them for the family meal. Nathaniel was excitingly telling the girls about a hawk he had spotted; as he spoke he brushed back his unruly hair and tucked it behind his ear. Norah nodded slightly toward their son and Thomas saw what she did. His ear had started to peak again; his wife would have to correct it, if the ruse was to continue. She would give both boys a night cap this evening with a sleeping herb in it, that way Foster would be kept in the dark alongside his brother. When they awoke in the morning, neither would suspect anything. They had done the same routine many times through the past decade though it seemed to happen more often now that Nathaniel was growing older.

After dinner the boys went up to their room to do their homework. Normally Thomas would make them do it at the table. However, they were being punished enough by the aroma of the scrumptious peach pie his wife made for dessert; he wouldn't make them sit there while they ate it in front of them. After dessert he chased Rosemary away from the kitchen and joined his wife at the sink, to help with the dishes.

"So what was it this time?" she asked.

"Some boys picking on Nathaniel," he replied, his voice barely audible over the sound of the water. "It's bound to happen, he'll always be slimmer than most and as he grows his elfin features will only be more prominent." He kept his words low; they had learned the hard way Nathaniel's hearing was better than theirs. They had to reprimand him more than once and tell him it was rude to eavesdrop on conversations that were not his own.

"Anyone get hurt?" Norah asked.

"Zach's boy a busted lip and the Lewis kid was probably limping for a bit afterwards," Thomas said, "nothing serious, our boys didn't have a scratch." He failed to hide the pride in his voice and was rewarded with an elbow in his side.

"I was against you teaching them how to fight to start with," she said.

"I'm teaching them how to defend themselves and those they love," he replied. "The war may be over but these are not gentle lands, my love. These children are not coddled nobles and nor would we want them that way."

"They are just children!" Norah replied her voice rising, "give them a chance to be one; they have the rest of their lives to have the worry about the burdens of being an adult, let that be our yoke for now."

"This land has a way of robbing one's childhood," Thomas replied.

"You are not your father," Norah replied. "You will not abandon them; you will be here to protect them."

"I most certainly will try," Thomas replied, "but incase I'm not I want them to be able to do it themselves."

Norah sighed and relented. "I'll take care of his ears this evening after the children go to bed."

"How much longer are we going to keep this deception going, beloved?" Thomas asked. "I think it will be easier for him as he grows to understand fully who he is."

"Please," Norah said. "We've had this talk before, when he's older … he lost his mother, don't be the one to take away this family too."

"Mama … Papa, look!" Young Sara ran in waving around a drawing she had made. Kneeling Thomas took it. "It's our family," his young daughter said. "There is me, and you and Mama, Nathaniel, Janice, Foster and Jenna … I just need to add the dogs … we have lots."

They did indeed have a lot of dogs; their canine family consisted of the puppies born in the cave those years ago … Wags, Paws, Flower, Dirt and Sky. The boys had trained their dogs, Wags and Paws to guard outside like their sire had. Flower, Dirt and Sky spent their time between the house and the barn.

"It's a beautiful drawing," Thomas said giving her a hug. "I like the dress you're wearing and the flower you gave your ma. What does Nathaniel have there?"

"An egg," Sara said, "so he can throw it at the bad boys if they come back."

Thomas sighed and patted her on the top of her curly head. "Sounds like a waste of an egg to me. Why don't you make it a ball and you and he could be playing catch?"

"Okay Papa!" And she ran back to the table where her colors were.

Thomas watched as his wife prepped the hot-chocolate she would serve the kids before bed, with a little extra in the boys' mugs. Leaving her to it, he walked into the family room to spend some time with the children before bedtime. After Nathaniel and Foster finished their homework and joined them he had all the kids settle down on the couch.

"All right," he said as Norah handed out mugs of the cocoa to the children, much to their delight. "This weekend we have a special treat planned for everyone," he said.

Out of the corner of his eye he watched Nathaniel sip his hot beverage and wondered at the slight droop in his shoulders. His son put the drink in his lap, cupping the warm mug in his hands. Nathaniel glanced up to find his eyes on him and he smiled. "What kind of treat, Pa?" he asked.

"I want candy!" Jenna said with a grin.

"I dolly!" Sara said, "One that has curls like mine!"

"I'd like a new pocket knife," Foster admitted.

Thomas laughed and waved off the requests. "It's not your birthdays," he said. "We'll be taking a trip to Stratholme." That got him excited cheers. They could be going to Stratholme for bags of manure and it wouldn't matter to his children, they just loved going to the big city. "If everyone stays out of trouble," he eyed the two boys and got sheepish looks from both. "Otherwise you two may find your weekend working alongside Grant here at the farm."

"Yes, sir," they replied.

The children minus Nathaniel had eagerly finished their hot chocolate; his son's mug remained untouched on his lap. Thomas frowned, that wouldn't do. "Drink up, Nathaniel," he said, "bedtime soon."

"It burnt my tongue," Nathaniel said.

"It should be cool now," Thomas said. "Finish it off."

"I'll drink it for you," Foster said making a grab for the drink.

"No!" Norah and Thomas shouted at the same time.

It startled the children and the cocoa splashed over Nathaniel, Janice and Jenna as the mug slipped out of hands and dumped. That led to more cries, mostly of alarm since the drink had cooled.

"Sorry," Nathaniel and Foster said in unison.

"Go change for bed," Thomas said with an encouraging smile. "Not going to force you to drink hot chocolate if you don't want to. We'll clean this mess and be up to tuck the lot of you in."

"Leave the chocolate stained clothes outside your door," Norah instructed as she returned with a damp towel to clean up the floor. "I'll soak them overnight."

As the children hurried off to do as they were asked, Thomas bent down and picked up the dropped mug. He sniffed and took a sip of the swallow of chocolate that hadn't dumped, he could taste nothing amiss. Gathering up the other children's mugs he brought them into the kitchen and rinsed them out. Norah joined him. "Try again another night?" he asked.

"No," she said. "The drink should work quickly on Foster. I'll just use my priest training to put Nathaniel asleep when we go to tuck him in. It won't take me long to mold the top of his ears. I shouldn't even need to use a blade, this time. Next time I'll want to sheer some of the flesh otherwise they'll be too large."

"All right, beloved," Thomas said. "Mother knows best."


	13. Chapter 13

_Author's Note: This chapter is a bit on the long side. It was originally two chapters with the first being shorter than normal. Hopefully you all prefer longer chapters over shorter ones. ~ K

* * *

_

**Chapter Thirteen – **_Nathaniel Conway, Age 10_

Nathaniel listened to the soft voices of his parents; they were reading the twins a bedtime story. He knew the book by heart and recognized when it was drawing to a close, soon his parents' soft footsteps would stop at Janice's room and then theirs. The knot in his stomach grew and he played with the ring around his neck.

"Can I sleep with you tonight?" he asked Foster.

His brother stifled a yawn. "Been a long time since you asked that, little brother," he said. "There is no storm tonight … what's spooking you?"

"I …" he didn't know what to say. Foster wouldn't believe him if he said the cocoa smelled funny. This wasn't the first time his ma had given him a weird tasting nightcap and each time he had awoke the next morning with a headache and haunted from nightmares. "Please …" he pleaded as his parents moved down the hall to Janice's room.

His brother lifted up the edge of his quilt and Nathaniel hurried over slipping between Foster and the wall. "Just don't go … stealing … blankets," Foster mumbled as sleep overtook him. Feeling secure Nathaniel turned toward the wall and listened to the footfalls approach their room. Their door opened and the soft light from the candle their mother held illuminated the room.

A chuckle came from his father at their doorway. "Good night, boys," he said, and then the candle was snuffed out. Nathaniel listened to his parents walk downstairs and to their customary spot beside the fire. He could hear the quiet squeak of his mother's rocking chair. With his brother at his back, and the soft hum of noises downstairs, Nathaniel fell into a dreamless sleep.

He awoke to find himself alone in the bed; he sat up. "Watch your feet!" Nathaniel jerked his legs back and looked down. Foster was sprawled across a jumble of blankets on the floor. "Next time instead of stealing my blankets, I'm going to tell you not to steal my bed," his brother said as he stretched.

"I'm sorry," Nathaniel said sheepishly.

"Eh it's okay," Foster said sitting up. "After about a dozen kicks I just stole your blankets and pillows."

"Why didn't you move to my bed?" Nathaniel asked as he shimmied off the bed and walked over to the dresser.

"I don't remember much about last night," Foster said as he joined him, picking out clothes for the day. "However, it seemed you wanted me close, so …"

"Thank you," Nathaniel said sliding a shirt over his head.

"Anytime, baby brother," Foster replied.

That morning after a warm breakfast of oats, Nathaniel was headed off to do his chores before school when his mother called him to her. "Yes, Ma?" he said.

"I want to talk to you before you go to school," she said. "Your father will take care of your farm duties." She took his hand and led him down the hall to her bedroom. Once there she shut the door and turned to face him.

Confused but not concerned he waited to see what she had to say.

"I'm afraid I've been doing something wrong and I want to be honest with you," she said.

His bewilderment grew and he was unsure how to reply.

"Last night," she said, sitting down on her bed and motioning him to join her. "When you didn't drink your hot chocolate, may I ask why?"

Feeling his cheeks grow warm he looked down at his hands, the thought of lying to her never entered his mind. "It tasted funny," he said. "Some nights you give me tasty cocoa and other times you give me yucky. If I drink the yucky ones I have scary dreams all night and wake up with a headache. I'm sorry, Mama, I just couldn't drink it."

"Why did you join your brother in bed?" she asked.

"I was scared," he said softly.

"Of what?" she asked.

"Of … you and pa," he whispered. At his mother's deep intake of breath he clenched his hands in a fist on his lap. "Sorry …"

"Don't be," his mother replied. "You are more right than you know. I want to show you something." She handed him her dressing mirror and told him to hold it up so he could see himself in it. She pulled back his hair and her fingers lightly traced the top of his ear. "Do you see what I see?" she asked.

"What am I looking for, Ma?" he replied.

"When you were born," she said. "I noticed your ears liked to peak and to save you the embarrassment of looking like a jackrabbit I started using my knowledge as healer to round them out. So when those times arrived instead of asking you … I would put a sleep aid in your cocoa that made you fall into a deep sleep. Then I would work my magic, I thought I did so unnoticed. I am so sorry to find out otherwise. It was so very vain of me, can you forgive me?"

Nathaniel was startled by the tears on his mother's cheeks and wrapped his arms around her. "I forgive you, Mama, just glad I'm not going nuts."

She chuckled and ran a hand down the back of his head. "No more than usual, my son," she said with a smile as she wiped a hand across her damp cheeks. "Well, you best be off, don't want you late for school."

"Mama, tonight can you fix my ears before bed?" He said, "I don't want to look like a rabbit at school, the kids have enough to tease me about already."

"If you are sure," his mother said, "I'd be happy to."

"Thank you, Mama, for everything," with one last hug he dashed out the door and into the waiting wagon. Foster grabbed his arm and hauled inside as their pa urged the horse onward. He usually gave the kids a ride to school in the morning but in the afternoon they would come home as the crow flies, through the woods. It would take them an hour some days but it was preferable to taking their pa out of the field.

"Everyone have their lunches and books?" his father asked.

"Yes, Pa," was a chorus of replies.

"Remember what I said about behaving," Pa said as he turned the horse down the path toward Corin's Crossing. "Especially my boys … keep your noses out of trouble or I'm serious about you cooling your heels at home while the rest of us enjoy our weekend at the city."

"Yes, sir," Foster and Nathaniel replied.

* * *

Corin's Crossing schoolhouse was classroom for a dozen students ages six to sixteen, watched over by an older spinster named Miss Kettle. For simplicity the children were divided in smaller groups by age. Sara and Jenna sat at a table with Hazel Madison who was a year younger and Usher Lewis who was a year older. Nathaniel had moved to an elder desk of the classroom this past year. At his table were York, Vance, Janice and Bethany. Foster was seated with Kyle, Reuben, Marlene and the oldest student Wendy, Vance's sister who was sixteen. When separated from his brother Kyle, Nathaniel found York's company almost friendly but Vance was a constant source of irritation.

As Miss Kettle was going over the day's lesson, Vance knocked one of Nathaniel's books off the table, it landed with a loud thud. His teacher had missed the harassment and raised an eyebrow. "Sorry," Nathaniel said as he bent down and picked up the book putting it on the other side, between him and Bethany. Afterwards Vance entertained himself by kicking Nathaniel in the shin under the table. After he ignored the first couple of blows they got harder and with a sigh Nathaniel tucked the bruised leg under him on the chair. Though unnoticed by their teacher who was busy talking about the history of Lordaeron, the abuse was observed by Foster. Who at that point got up in a ruse to sharpen his pencil and grabbed the back of Vance's chair tilting it back hard so the other's knees slammed into the underneath of the table.

"Mr. Conway!" Miss Kettle said sharply.

"Sorry," Foster lied. "I slipped, just tried to catch myself."

The rest of the morning the only aggravation Nathaniel suffered was evil looks. At lunchtime he joined the rest of his friends under a large shady tree in front of the school. "You're limping," Marlene said, with a frown.

"I'll walk it off," Nathaniel said sitting down on the grass and taking out his lunch.

"Let me see," Janice said reaching for his leg.

He tucked it under him. "It's fine," he said, as Foster and Bethany walked over. He pleaded quietly with his sister to drop it. "Remember Stratholme," he whispered. Their little sisters ran over, giving him a welcomed reprieve.

"I can't find my lunch," Sara said.

"Did you check the coat closet really good?" Nathaniel asked.

"Uh huh," Sara answered, "Jenna helped, it's not there … I had it this morning!"

Foster and Nathaniel exchanged glances, both guessing the same thing. "Jerks," Foster mumbled under his breath.

"It's okay," Nathaniel said patting the grass beside him. "You can share mine."

The others said the same and soon lunches were divided among the friends, with no one hungry as the bell rang. Waiting a moment for the others to take the lead, Nathaniel stood his leg throbbing. Once sure he could support himself he limped toward the school there was no way he was going to be able to hide this from his brother. His mind elsewhere he didn't see the leg that suddenly appeared in front of him. Falling hard he muffed a cry, catching himself with his hands.

"Mr. Dixon, I saw that!" Miss Kettle shouted from the steps as she hurried over.

"What?" Vance said with a smirk. "The idiot didn't watch where he was walking."

"And you'll be watching the rest of the class from the corner, young man," Miss Kettle said, as she grabbed him by the arm and marched back into the school.

Foster had run back and helped Nathaniel to his feet. "You okay?" he asked, his eyes flashed with anger.

"I'm fine, Brother," Nathaniel said with a smile. "I'm just a bit clumsy."

"I'm not the schoolmarm," Foster said tensely, "don't go lying to me."

"Stratholme," Nathaniel replied as he limped toward the school. "You can kick his ass next week."

"With pleasure," Foster said.

Nathaniel spent the rest of the school day in peace. Vance spent the rest of the day standing in the corner of the classroom with a large pointed dunce cap on his head. However, Nathaniel was not looking forward to the walk home, his leg continued to ache. After the school bell rang for the last time, he found himself resting on the stairs in front of the schoolhouse while Foster walked Bethany home. Sara came over to him a puzzled look on her young face. "I can't find Jenna," she said.

"Where you playing hide-and-seek?" he asked.

"No," Sara said. "She ran out of school first, I had to get my books. She's not with Sis I don't know where she is … she said something about a secret or something."

"Well we don't want to dawdle," Nathaniel said as he stood. He gestured over to where Janice was talking to Marlene under the shade tree. "You and Sis go see if you can find her, I'll do the same. She's probably just playing a game with us."

"Okay!" Sara said as she ran off.

Putting his book bag down Nathaniel hobbled around the schoolhouse, calling for his sister. When he got no answer he headed toward general store, maybe she was trying to sweet talk the grocer out of some copper candy.

"Are you looking for your sister?"

Nathaniel glanced toward the young boy that had spoken, Usher Lewis. "Yeah, Jenna, have you seen her?"

"Is she the one with the curls?"

"No that's Sara, Jenna has the straight hair like Pa," Nathaniel replied.

"She and Hazel went to the stables," Usher said, "something about kittens."

"Ah okay, thanks," Nathaniel said adjusting his path. The Madison family not only owned the local blacksmith but was also the stable masters of Corin's Crossing. Entering the dimly lit barn he called out for his sister, "Jenna, you in here? We need to start heading home."

The door behind him closed with a crash and he spun around cursing under his breath at the pain it caused his leg. Vance stood in front of the door his arms crossed. "Finally figured out how to take down you Conway boys," he said with a sneer. "Have to separate you." Kyle and Reuben appeared on either side of him.

"Where's my sister?" Nathaniel asked.

"Jenna, you and Hazel enjoying those kittens?" Vance shouted. "Picking out which one you want when they are old enough to leave their momma?"

"I like the one with the white paws," Jenna shouted back from the loft.

"York, you keep a close eye on those girls," Vance said as he approached Nathaniel. "Wouldn't want them to get hurt," he said quietly.

"You wouldn't," Nathaniel said, as his eyes looked around for a means of escape or aid.

"Only if you play nice," Vance said.

"Just don't hurt her," Nathaniel replied.

Vance motioned to a stool. "Sit down," he said.

With little choice, Nathaniel did as he was told. Kyle moved behind him and grabbed his arms, he didn't resist. Vance approached with a wooden box in his hand. "Just going to pretty you up for your walk home, heard you ladies like that" he said with a cold sneer, "borrowed some makeup."

Nathaniel's heart raced but he tried to remain calm. Makeup wasn't anything he couldn't wash off. Vance looked lost when he first opened the box; he took out bottles of liquid setting them to the side. "Ah, this I know what to do with," he said taking out a tube of crimson lipstick. Nathaniel turned his head to the side when he approached and was rewarded by a sharp slap across the cheek by the older boy. Reuben reached over and grabbed Nathaniel's jaw and held it tight as Vance messily applied the lip color. "Looking better already," he said.

They continued to assault his face taking turns with the various cosmetics they found. Afterwards they tied bright ribbons to his hair, laughing the entire time. Nathaniel tolerated it all, praying his sister was safe and wouldn't come down to see him like this. Then Vance pulled out a dress, covered with bright flowers. "Please," Nathaniel said, "haven't you done enough?"

"Oh not nearly," Vance said with a cold look, he took out a large switch-blade and Nathaniel's fear returned. "Stand him up," Vance said, and Kyle jerked Nathaniel to his feet.

The cold blade glided beneath the buttons, cutting them off one at a time until his shirt hung open. "What do we have here?" Vance said as the knife slid under the chain around Nathanial's neck.

"Leave it be," Nathaniel said, tensely.

"The girl seems awful protective of her jewelry," Reuben said with a smirk.

"It's a gift from my parents," Nathanial pleaded. "I was told never to take it off."

With a sharp tug the chain broke and the ring dropped bouncing across the ground. The pain came unexpectedly and sudden. Nathaniel cried out as his knees buckled, he seemed unable to catch his breath. He barely felt the burn from the cut the knife gave him when he'd moved.

"What did you do?" Reuben shouted.

"Nothin," Vance retorted. "Pull him back up, I'm not done with him yet."

"Help …" Nathaniel gasped, clawing at his bare chest in a desperate attempt to find the ring that was no longer there.

At that moment there was a loud bang and the door to the stables which had been barricaded came crashing down. Nathaniel was released and he fell to the ground. All round him were the angry shouts of men and boys and the frantic cries of girls but none of it matter; he couldn't explain or reason with the pain that exploded in his chest nor the craving for … something. Strong arms picked him up and cradled him, there were pleas of his name but he was unable to reply. After what seemed like an eternity his mind could handle no more and he was given the blessed freedom of nothingness as he passed out.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen – **_Foster Conway, Age 12_

He had known fear before but not like this. Foster knelt beside the bed that held his brother; untying the stupid ribbons from his hair. Mrs. O'Connell was using a warm washcloth to clean the make-up off the fair cheeks. "Poor baby," she whispered. "He is such a gentle child … those terrible boys."

The door to the room opened and his parents rushed in, his father still dirty from the fields. Mama let out a soft cry as she hurried to Nathaniel's side, his pa stood in the doorway, seemly at a lost.

"I'm sorry," Foster said, pleading. "I shouldn't have left him; I thought he would be okay waiting at the school. They used Jenna to lure him away … I'm so sorry."

"Not your fault," his pa said. "I should have dealt with it sooner."

"What's wrong with him?" Mrs. O'Connell said. "When Donald and Henry found him in the stables he was already comatose. We thought it might have been the knife wound or shock, the poor babe, but the cut isn't deep it won't scar. Smelling salts had no effect either."

"The ring," his pa said. "Where is the ring?"

"Excuse me?" Mrs. O'Connell asked, confused.

"He has worn a ring around his neck since he was born, where is it?" Pa demanded.

"I'm sorry, Thomas," Mrs. O'Connell said. "He wasn't wearing one."

"The boys must have taken it," Foster said.

"Where are they?" his pa commanded.

"Their fathers decided it would be best if they spent the night in the town's jail," Mrs. O'Connell said. "What they did, that's assault!"

"My boys wouldn't have sat for a week," Pa growled.

"Oh believe me," Mrs. O'Connell said as she watched his mother work her healing magic. "Once Henry found out about it, those boys of his were happy to sit in jail. I don't think our blacksmith is done yet."

"Come on, Foster," his pa said motioning him. "Let's go talk to these boys and see if we can find your brother's ring."

"Is that really important?" Mrs. O'Connell asked, "I mean your son is in dire need …"

"Of that ring," his pa said as he ran out of the room. Foster followed him through the inn that also served as the O'Connell's home. On the sofa in the front room sat his sisters working on a puzzle with Bethany. They looked up expectantly when they ran through but Foster just shook his head slightly and went after his father. They went to the small jail the town had, it just had one cell where people that drank too much could cool their heels. At the moment it was occupied by the conquered bullies, outside the cell stood the fathers of the boys … Henry Madison the blacksmith, Quinton Lewis a local farmer and Zach Dixon, who ran the general store.

Two out of three of them looked ashamed when Foster and his father ran inside. Henry spoke first, "I'm so sorry about my boys, Thomas … I had no idea it had gotten so bad for your son. It won't happen again," the last words were spoken as York and Kyle cowered.

"I do hope the lad has recovered," said Mr. Lewis, "he must have had a terrible fright."

"Not yet, I'm afraid," said his pa as he walked over to the cell and looked down at the boys within. "My son was wearing a necklace with a ring attached to it, where is it?"

"I don't know sir," York said softly.

Henry banged his large callused hand against the wall and his boys flinched. "I saw it," Kyle said. "After Vance … it fell to the ground of the stables … I don't know where it went after that."

"That's a place to start," his pa said, "thank you."

As they turned to leave the jail Zach Dixon whispered beneath his breath, "this wouldn't happen if you hadn't raised a queer."

Foster had never seen his father move so fast, nor so deadly. His fist was a blur as he slammed it into Mr. Dixon's face; Foster could hear the sickening crunch as his nose was broken. Mr. Madison moved quickly and pulled his father back stepping between the two men.

"I see the apple didn't fall far from the tree," Pa growled as he stormed out. Foster glanced at the blood smeared face of the grocer before chasing after his father. Once they reached the stables they started searching the ground. They found the chain but the ring was no where to be seen.

Soon a small collection of town folks joined in the search bringing brooms and lanterns when the sun started to set, but in the end they still walked away empty handed. Vance had been removed from the jail by his father, the other three could offer no more help. As the moon began to rise his father decided it was time to go home. Nathaniel still hadn't awakened and was placed in the wagon on some quilts. Foster climbed in on one side and his ma on the other. The ride back home was a quiet one. Once there Nathaniel was put into his bed, their mom moved a chair into the room to sit beside him. Ever so often Foster would see her whispering a chant, he assumed it must be the healing magic she knew.

The children did their best to eat some of the stew Rosemary had made; Foster had to force himself to swallow a few spoonfuls. He excused himself and after a glance upstairs, went outside. Behind the barn was a large leather bag his father had hung up, filled with grain. Taking off his shirt Foster threw a few experimental punches at it and then after he got into a rhythm attack it full out, adding a few quick kicks. His father's training and the work he did around the farm had already started forming his youthful body. Picturing Vance's smiling face in front of him, Foster punched it repeatedly. He was soaked with sweat when he finally ran out of strength and let his hands fall, the knuckles raw and bleeding.

"Feel better?" his father asked from behind him.

"Better … no … calmer, yes," Foster said.

"Good a calm head will win the battle," his pa said as he approached and shed his shirt. He took an extra moment to wrap his hands up in straps of cloth before he started his own workout. With all the bad that happened today, Foster could still appreciate the form of his father's fighting figure. There was not an ounce of fat on him, it was all muscles and they rippled in the moonlight as he pummeled the bag. "Go put those hands under the pump for a moment," his father said between punches, "will stop the swelling."

"Yes, sir," Foster said. He paused. "Pa, what's wrong with Nathaniel?"

"When he was a baby he would scream when that ring he wore was taken away," he replied. "We never fully understood the why; we just knew if we kept it with him he was happy."

"That makes no sense," Foster said, scratching his head. "It's just a piece of jewelry … Pa?"

"Yes, son?"

"Nathaniel is my brother as much as Janice is my sister … and I was young when he came to the family but I know he didn't arrive in the same manner as my sisters."

His father stopped punching the bag and turned to face him. "There will come a time when I'll be honest with you," he said. "But for now I need you to trust your father knows best and wait for that time. You must also never repeat that fact in front of your brother."

"Yes, sir," Foster said. "I'll go get cleaned up now, it's getting late and I still need to do my chores and study for a test we're having in history."

"I was thinking of keeping you kids home tomorrow," his father said.

"Please don't," Foster said. "I'll go crazy just waiting on Nathaniel to wake up, let me focus on something else."

"Foster, you are not to lay a hand on those boys if I allow you to go," his pa warned. "Their fathers have handled the matter; if they so much hint of malice you are to tell your teacher Miss Kettle she'll deal with it."

"Okay, Pa …"

"Promise!" he commanded.

Crossing his fingers in the dark Foster said, "I promise, sir."


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen– **_Thomas Conway, Age 35_

"_You are not your father. You will not abandon them; you will be here to protect them."_

Thomas awoke with the whispers of his wife on his mind. He had talked Norah into leaving her post beside Nathaniel and catch a few hours of rest. Cursing for dozing he looked down at his son and was surprised to find two very blue eyes looking up at him. The pain his son felt was written all over his face, the fair cheeks were damp with tears he couldn't stop from falling. His breath was coming in soft gasps, through clenched teeth.

"Sorry," he whispered between breaths, "didn't mean to wake you, Pa."

"Can you tell me what hurts, my son?" Thomas asked. When Nathaniel's eyes moved behind him, he reassured, "Foster is sleeping downstairs tonight, you won't wake him."

"Everything, Pa," Nathaniel said. "I am hot and cold all at the same time. My muscles hurt like I've been hauling rocks for days. My head feels like it's going to explode …" He suddenly let out gut wrenching scream as he curled up into a ball. Thomas could hear the sound of footfalls racing up the stairs. "Oh no …" Nathaniel wailed between sobs.

"It is okay, my son," Thomas said as the door flew open and Norah raced inside.

"I … soiled myself," Nathaniel whispered, shuddering.

"It's okay, baby," Norah said, putting a hand on the sweat-coated forehead. "We'll clean you up, you just rest a bit more … dream happy dreams, please … my son." Under his wife's touch and magic the crying and gasps stilled as Nathaniel was aided to slumber.

Looking over his wife's shoulder, Thomas saw his eldest standing in the doorway. "Check on your sisters," Thomas told him, "then try to get some sleep." After Foster left, he helped Norah clean Nathaniel, cradling him against his chest afterwards as she changed the bedding. "I wish I had the magical touch to calm him down like I did when he was a babe," Thomas said, feeling helpless.

"If he doesn't get better soon," Norah said, "we'll … we will have to find his people and ask them for aid. Give him some more time first, perhaps it's just the shock … maybe he'll recover on his own, he's a strong boy."

"That he is," Thomas said, laying Nathaniel down on the clean bed. Knowing better than to ask her to go back to bed, he kissed his wife and walked downstairs. He was not surprised to find Foster sitting up on the couch a quilt pulled around him. "We're both going to be exhausted tomorrow," Thomas said sitting down beside Foster and draping an arm around his son's shoulders. Adjusting the quilt over both of them, he put his feet up on the coffee table and closed his eyes.

The following morning, Foster talked him into letting him go to school. Janice went as well, 'to keep him out of trouble', as she put it. The twins begged to stay home with Nathaniel and Thomas wasn't going to argue it. Instead of dropping the children off in front of the school, he went inside with them.

Gale Kettle, the teacher, met him at the door. "I am so sorry about what happened, Thomas," she said. "I should have nipped it in the bud. As you can see I've moved the troublemakers into separate corners." She gestured around the room where in each corner stood a solitary desk and chair. Only one was occupied at the moment, by a glowering Vance Dixon. "The other fathers bought their sons home after the night in the jail, they'll be back to school next week. Mr. Dixon seems under the impression his son can do no wrong. I am not sure what I am going to do with that man or his child, thankfully his daughter Wendy doesn't share the same traits."

"That man is a waste of flesh," Thomas growled slightly. "He's lost my business."

"You are not the only one saying such," Gale said. "People around these parts don't take kindly to children getting hurt or those that encourage it. I thought about kicking Vance out of school but I am willing to give him another chance, but only one."

"I trust you, Gale," Thomas said with a tip of his hat. He put a hand on Foster's shoulder, it was tense. "Behave, young man," he said under his breath, "you promised."

"Yes, sir," Foster said.

Kissing his daughter's forehead, Thomas headed outside. Before he could step up onto his wagon he was called over by Henry. "I have my boys going through the stables again, straw by straw for your boy's missing ring," he said "They are thinking Vance may have picked it up in all the hubbub after I broke down the stable's doors yesterday."

"You did that?" Thomas said, gesturing to where the two doors to the barn were hanging off their hinges.

"Your daughters had just come up to me asking if I had seen their sister when we heard Nathaniel call out. That is a cry I never want to hear again. When I found the door locked from within the only thought I had was to get inside as quick as possible. It was quite a shock to see my son there and Vance holding a blade …" The bearded man's eyes flashed.

"That ring is very important to us … if there is anything you can do …" Thomas started.

"Pa!" The men turned to see York running up.

"You best have the ring," Henry growled.

York looked ashamed at the sight of Thomas and looked down. "No sir," he said. "Kyle and I are still looking but we have customers … Pa, I don't know if their mounts take chicken feed or oats."

"What are you babbling about?" Henry asked, following York.

Curious, Thomas trailed them back to the stables. He couldn't hide his surprise at the giant cockatrices Kyle was holding the reins of, two rainbow feathered birds scratched at the ground in front of them. "Pa?" Kyle said confusion in his voice.

From the barn two slender figures appeared, hoods pulled over their faces. As if on cue they both removed their covers at the same time revealing the slender ears and features of their race. "Greetings, humans," the female of the pair said. She did little to hide the distaste in her voice. "Are one of you the owner of this establishment?"

"Aye," Henry said stepping forward, "Henry Madison at your services, my lady." The blacksmith's offered hand went untouched and after an awkward moment he lowered it. "How can I be of service?"

"We will be spending the night," the female spoke again, the male seemed content letting her do the talking. She tossed Henry a couple of golden coins. "Please see to our Hawkstriders, hopefully you treat the beasts in your care better than your barn."

Her gaze moved to where Thomas stood. "Is there an inn in this forsaken town?"

He nodded his head toward the O'Connell's; as they walked past he caught a flash of gold on the male's hand. "Please, sir," Thomas said, his heart in his throat. The long blond-haired male paused and looked at him, a look of disinterest on his face. "May I have a moment of your time, in private?"

The slender eyebrow went up and he glanced over at his female companion. She shrugged. "I'll be at the inn, Lor'themar," she said.

Lor'themar nodded and returned his gaze to Thomas, the coldness in the expression remained as he led the elf to the outskirts of town.

"Forgive me," Thomas said, "I'll try to be quick, so you can return to your wife."

"She is not my wife," Lor'themar said, but he didn't explain further.

Thomas stuttered and sighed. "I'll be as direct as I can. I noticed you are wearing a ring, I knew another of your kind that also wore a ring … he lost it and it caused him great pain. I never asked why and am curious …"

Lor'themar held up his hand, on the finger was a gold ring with a crystal in the center, and like Nathaniel's around the stone was the phases of the sun. "It's is called a Sunwell Ring," he said. "We High Elves place a great value on them; it blocks our magical addiction as well as the attached penalties when we're away from our blessed Sunwell."

"Magic addiction," Thomas said, "all High Elves suffer from this addiction even when they are babes?"

'It would be extremely hard if not fatal on a High Elf child to be away from the Sunwell," Lor'themar asked. "We do not let them be attuned to a Sunwell Ring until they are at least a couple centuries old."

"Do all High Elves wear a ring then when away from your lands?" Thomas asked.

"Some can maintain their sanity without such an aid," the elf replied. "Lady Windrunner, my companion, does not wear one. She considers it a crutch, she maintains herself by mediating every morning … she is stronger than I."

"Where can one find such a ring?" Thomas asked.

Lor'themar's eyes flashed. "There is no price one could pay," he said. "Each ring is crafted for an individual and then there is a twenty-four hour attunement process before a ring can offer the wearer its benefits."

"I see," Thomas said.

"May I ask you something now?" Lor'themar said. "What happened to this elf you speak of, we are not known for losing our rings."

Thomas paused on the edge, here was a man that could possibly aid his son but his stance was so cold and Nathaniel so loving. They were staying overnight, he had more time. "I don't know, sir," Thomas lied. "It was a long time ago. Thanks again for your time; I'll let you get back to your companion. I need to get back to my farm, chores to be done."

The High Elf nodded and returned to the inn. Thomas hurried to his wagon and headed home, he had been given hope for his son.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen– **_Foster Conway, Age 12_

The rage inside him burnt all day. Anytime his and Vance's gaze met the other would smile smugly, taunting. But there was never a chance to act on the feelings. Miss Kettle never allowed Vance to leave his desk unless it was to the outhouse and much to the bully's chagrin the teacher would walk out with him. At lunchtime the other kids spoke excitedly about the strange guests staying at the inn. Foster paid little attention to the conversation, all he could think of was the scream he heard last night from his brother. After choking down his lunch he stood and told the girls he would be back.

Walking toward the lake behind the school he was surprised to find the field before it occupied. There was a woman there and she was using a large bow she had to fire arrows into a tree a distance away. Though her back was facing him there was no mistaking the long pointed ears that framed the high ponytail, an elf. He watched the fluid motions silently for several minutes when Miss Kettle rang the school bell warning him lunch was over. As he turned to leave a male voice, with a light accent called out, "enjoy the show?"

Confused Foster looked around and found the elf had turned to face him, his cheeks flushed. Though the face was very attractive he had been mistaken, the stranger was male. "You're really good, sir" Foster said, "almost as good as Nathaniel."

An oversize eyebrow rose up and Foster gasped at the bright blue eyes underneath it. "You have eyes like him too!"

"So this Nathaniel of yours is a High Elf a well," the elf said, "I was unaware of any of my kin traveling through this area."

"You know where all the elves are?" Foster asked, unbelievably.

"Only the other Farstriders," the elf replied.

"Farstriders?" Foster asked, confused … out of the corner of his eye he saw Miss Kettle walking toward him.

"Our Rangers, your friend Nathaniel is probably one, though I would guess that isn't his true name …"

"No he's not," Foster said.

"Mr. Conway," Miss Kettle said as she approached, "will you be joining us?" It dawned on who had delayed him and she gasped, a slight blush appeared on her cheeks. "I'm sorry, sir, I don't mean to interrupt, just came for my tardy student."

The tall stranger bowed. "I must apologize on his behalf, he had piqued my curiosity. I shall return to my commander now." As he turned to leave he pulled off the leather gloves he had been wearing and Foster caught a flash of gold.

He had seen the ring a thousand times in his young life there was no doubt and he lunged for the hand. "Nathaniel's ring!" As his fingers curled around the fair hand of the other he found himself thrown on the ground, the cold blade of the elf pressed against his neck. Behind him Miss Kettle screamed.

"You are the second human in this town to take a fancy to my Sunwell Ring," the elf growled. "The other was man, said an elf friend had lost his ring … and now you just mentioned Nathaniel … are they the one in the same?"

Foster realized his father must have already approached the elf. He stared up at the angry elf, the eyes that were the same of his brother, the hair that was the same light blond … the handsome features that caused Nathaniel such grief … all his brother was missing was the ears. The mystery of his brother that his father hinted at last night fell into place … Nathaniel was an elf or at least had the blood of one. If his pa hadn't asked the elf for help then there must be a reason.

"Please, sir, let him go," Miss Kettle said. "He's just a child, his younger brother had a terrible shock yesterday the poor lad has been practically comatose since then, poor little Nat …"

"I'm really sorry, mister," Foster said loudly cutting his teacher off. "She's right I didn't sleep much yesterday …"

A slender hand clamped down over his mouth silencing him. "His brother's name?" the elf asked Miss Kettle.

Foster's silent plea went unanswered.

"Nathaniel, sir," Miss Kettle said. "Of Thomas and Norah Conway, Foster is their eldest then there is Nathaniel, Janice and the twins…"

"I didn't ask for a family history," the elf snapped. "And the Conways are human?"

"Why yes," Miss Kettle said, clearly confused. "What kind of question is that?"

The elf pulled Foster to his feet and knelt down in front of him. "I'm going to ask some questions and you will answer me truthfully, if you lie I will know …" the elf glanced over at Miss Kettle. "You're excused, your class needs you."

"I will not leave one of my students with a knife wielding stranger," Miss Kettle said.

"I swear by the Sunwell the child will not come to harm," the elf replied.

"It's okay, Miss Kettle," Foster said, "Please, before Janice starts to worry."

The teacher wrung her hands and then after a long moment turned and hurried back to the school.

"You've seen a Sunwell ring before?" the elf asked after the teacher was gone.

"Yes, sir," Foster replied, his mind racing.

"Where?" the elf asked.

Foster chewed his lower lip and glanced around, trying to buy a moment to formulate an answer.

"Where!" the elf demanded.

With a heavy sigh Foster shrugged. "Up until yesterday my brother wore one around his neck."

"The same brother that is now comatose because of the loss?" the elf asked.

"Yes, sir," Foster said. "Some bullies got to him and I think one of them took it but I can't prove it."

"If there is truly another Sunwell Ring in this desolate place I will sense it," the elf said standing. "Show me this bully."

Feeling he had little choice Foster led the elf back to the school. The children let out a collective gasp as they entered. After he pointed to where Vance sat the elf strolled over to the boy and pulled him to his feet. Vance let out a pitiful yelp. "He has the scent of magic about him, but does not have the ring on him …"

"I told you I know nothing about that damn ring," Vance retorted.

"Show me where you live, human." The elf said in the same tone of voice. "I'm sure I will find the ring there …"

"I ain't showing you nothing," Vance said.

"We live above the general store," Wendy said standing. "I'll show you."

With a hand still on Vance's arm the elf followed his sister, Wendy, out of the school. Foster trailed behind them. The group walked into the store, setting off the small bell over the door. Mr. Dixon walked out of the backroom his nose covered in a large white band-aid. He gave the group a once over, Foster didn't miss the look of distain when the gaze found him. It then moved to the imposing elf who still had a vice grip on Vance's arm. "This child took something that wasn't his yesterday," the elf said. "And if it is not returned promptly I will rip this store apart until I find it.

"Sir, you can not do that," Mr. Dixon said. "If you release my son I am sure we can talk this over like civilized folks."

There was a commotion outside and Foster looked behind them. A lithe female walked in, another elf. She took in the situation quickly and drew her bow nocking an arrow in it. "Explain Lor'themar," she said.

"There is a Sunwell Ring in here, Sylvanas," Lor'themar replied.

The tall female looked around the room and Foster noticed her eyes flash slightly right before she let her arrow go. It pierced a painting behind Mr. Dixon. Before anyone could react another arrow had been nocked.

"Behind that painting is a safe," Sylvanas said. "You open it or I'll put an arrow between your eyes and do it myself, no human should ever possess a Sunwell Ring."

Mr. Dixon paled as he removed the painting to reveal what the elf maiden already knew. As his shaking fingers worked the lock Mr. O'Connell and Mr. Madison pushed their way into the door. "What is going on here?" Mr. Madison said.

"The Dixons have Nathaniel's ring," Foster said.

"You have the lad's ring," Mr. O'Connell said in disbelief. "You said you did not … how could you?"

Mr. Dixon didn't reply as he took a small velvet pouch from the safe and tossed it toward the elves. Lor'themar released Vance and caught the pouch, without opening it he turned to leave. His companion waited a moment longer before she lowered her bow and followed.

Ignoring the angry shouts behind him Foster chased the elves out the door. "Please," he said, "give it back."

Sylvanas eyed him coldly as she opened the bag that had been given to her. In her palm slid out Nathaniel's ring. "I told you, no human should posses a ring such as this."

"Please, ma'am, he's in an awful fix," Foster pleaded. "He's the only brother I have, he needs it."

"This is cut for a woman," the elf said, slipping the ring back into the pouch and into her pocket. "I grow tired of the lies these humans tell, Lor'themar, let us gather our belonging and head for Dalaran."

"No!" Foster shouted and lunged for the pocket that held his brother's salvation. The female elf went to backhand him and his father's training took over as he ducked under it and at the same time he wrapped his arm around hers twisting. Using her body as a support he kicked up his legs and put both feet to the chest of Lor'themar throwing him off balance. He had twelve years of experience to their hundreds but he had a passion they could not match. Having to support his full weight threw the female off; neither of the elves were good at close combat. Help came from an unlikely source as York and Kyle appeared tackling Lor'themar. With that worry taken care of Foster could focus on the viper he had taken on. Experience was going to win the battle much to Foster's dread. A knife appeared in the elf maiden's hand and he had no doubt she would use it. As he tried to block it a large hand appeared and grabbed her wrist.

"That is enough," his father said as he roughly pushed Foster away. He helped Sylvanas to her feet but in the same move disarmed the blade from her.

"Pa she has Nathaniel's ring," Foster pleaded.

"They found it?" His father said, "Thank the Light. Please where is it?"

"I told the child I would not surrender this ring to a human," Sylvanas snarled.

"You wouldn't be," his pa said as his shoulders drooped, he motioned to the wagon behind them that Foster had failed to see. "My son is in there, you're his last hope … please help him."


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen– **_Nathaniel Conway, Age 10_

"_You are a High Elf." _

Those words whispered to him in a moment of painful awareness, burnt in his chest along with the fire he could not control. There was never a question his father was telling the truth, it made the pieces fit. His family wasn't elves, which meant … they weren't his family. No his pa said blood didn't make a family, love did. They loved him and wanted to make him better, which was why he was in this wagon, fighting the pain to stay conscious. The same love was written in his mother's face as she used her magic to grow his ears out to the length of a High Elf. It didn't feel odd to him, the exact opposite he finally felt whole.

"Please … help him."

His father was begging for him and a moment later through feverish eyes Nathaniel saw two shadows looking down on him from where he laid on his mother's lap. It was hard to focus on them as another painful tremor worked its way through his body. He squeezed his ma's hand and tried to breathe calmly like his pa had told him to.

A male spoke in awe in a language he didn't understand. A female answered him sharply in the same tongue. A cool hand slipped something on his finger. The change was instantaneous; warmth shot up his arm, at the same time it cooled the flames raging in him.

"This child should not be away from Sunwell," a strange voice demanded.

"Pardon me, sir," Nathaniel heard his father say. "He was born away from your Sunwell and has done just fine until this past day. I do thank you for returning his ring to him, though. When he's older we'll work on his dependence of it."

"We?" the man said with distain. "This child shall be returned to Silvermoon where he can be raised like a true Quel'dorei."

"No," Nathanial said finding his voice. "Please, don't take me from my family."

"These humans can no more be your family than an ogre," the man said again, which now that his vision cleared Nathaniel could tell was a slender High Elf.

"Ma heals my hurts, Pa's strong arms have guided and protected me, Foster is the best darn brother in the world, my sisters may be brats at times but I wouldn't trade them," Nathaniel said, his voice growing stronger. "Takes more than blood to be a family!"

As he spoke he sat up, he was surprised to find most of the town had gathered around. "By the light," Mrs. O'Connell said, "his ears … he is an elf!"

"Well," Mr. Madison said, "that explains some things. However, he is still Thomas's boy in my eyes. I won't let you hoity-toity elves separate this family."

Nathaniel searched the crowd and found Foster; his brother was staring at him with a look of wonderment on his face. When their eyes met Foster grinned. "Good to see you back with us, baby brother," he said.

The female elf pulled her companion off to the side, Nathaniel could easily eavesdrop on their conversation however they had switched to the language he didn't understand so it did no good. He could tell they were arguing, finally the man seemed to relent to her wishes and the pair returned.

"We are on our way to Dalaran," she said, speaking to Nathaniel. "It is not a trip where we can coddle a child. However, my subordinate, says there will come a time he will return for you and take you back to our people. The longer you stay here, the more human you will become; you're already maturing faster than you should. If you had been raised an elf you would barely be off your mother's tit."

The male elf that had remained quiet stepped forward and slid his quiver and bow off his back. He put them in the wagon beside Nathaniel. "My name is Lor'themar Theron," he said. "Your _brother_ mentioned you're good with a bow. I'll leave mine for you to train with, but I will return for it someday and for you."

Nathaniel knew better than to argue and nodded his head.

The elf took Nathaniel's hand that wore the ring. "Leave the ring on and by tomorrow the gold should contract to fit your finger and will grow as you do. No human will be able to take it unless they remove the finger itself." As the pair of elves turned to leave, Lor'themar paused at Nathaniel's father. "When I return," he said, "I expect the truth behind the child."

"One I will gladly tell," his pa said. "Thank you for returning his ring and for not taking him from us."

Nathaniel stood up in the back of the wagon and watched the pair walk over to where Kyle was holding the reins of two strange looking bird-like creatures. The elves swung up on the back of them like they were horses and after one final glance at Nathaniel they rode out of town to the west.

"Those elves aren't the only ones that you owe the truth to," Mrs. O'Connell said.

"You're right, Ellen," his pa said. "This evening at city hall, I'll come back and tell everyone the truth. For now let me take my family home and tell them."

"Of course," she said with a slight bow. She looked over at Nathaniel, "your true ears make you look complete, always knew there was something special about you."

Nathaniel could feel the blush spread across his cheeks, to the tips of his ears.

"Oh now that's cute," Mrs. O'Connell said with a laugh. Her laugh seemed to release the town folks from their stupor and after a few more comments and some goodbyes Nathaniel found himself headed home with Foster and Janice sitting with him in the back of the wagon. The twins had stayed home with the Paxtons.

Janice couldn't help herself and reached over to touch one of his ears. He let her, only letting out a snicker as her fingers tickled him. "I don't understand," she said, "where did they come from?"

"He's always had them," their ma answered, "I just hid them until he was ready."

"Neat-o" she said, "I have an elf for a brother; Bethany and Marlene are going to be so jealous!" Nathaniel felt his ears grow warm again and his sister laughed her eyes sparkling. "Your ears turn red along with your cheeks!" The laugh only darkened the blush.

"That's enough, Janice," their ma said with a smile. "Leave your brother alone, he's had a rough time of it."

Nathaniel yawned and silently agreed with her. All he wanted to do now was sleep, even though that's how he spent the last day. He noticed Foster studying him, and he wondered what his brother was thinking. For a moment he was afraid and his hand moved subconsciously for the chain he no longer wore. The habitual action wasn't missed by Foster who tapped his booted foot against his brother's. With that touch Nathaniel relaxed, they were still good.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter Eighteen – **_Thomas Conway, Age 35_

He tightened the cinch on Nutmeg, their chestnut mare. His black stallion, Granite, was grazing nearby ready for the trip. The meeting last night had gone well enough. The town folks had accepted the fact he'd found Nathaniel's gravely injured mother in the woods and that he had failed to save her life but rescued the one she carried within. No one questioned his and Norah's choice to raise the child as their own, though Ellen voiced she'd wished they had been honest from the get go so the town could have rallied around the boy. Thomas pointed out he hadn't wanted his child treated any differently but now he and Norah had decided to leave Nathaniel's ears the way they were meant to be. The town was small and Thomas knew everyone at the meeting by their first names, he did notice the absence of the Dixons. But that was fine with him; he wasn't in the mood to deal with the bigots.

He and Norah had come to the meeting alone leaving the children at home, much to Foster's chagrin. Nathaniel had slept through the evening only awakening long enough to drink some broth before drifting back asleep. He assured his family it was a peaceful slumber. The following morning Thomas announced he was delaying the family trip to Stratholme another week, there was something he needed to do first. Then he had instructed his boys to dress for riding.

They had done as he asked and were now approaching along with a small bag their mother had packed with lunch. He handed Nutmeg's reins to Foster who easily swung up onto the saddle. Then he offered his arm to his brother who climbed up behind him. "I'll have to get you both your own horses soon," Thomas said as he grabbed Granite's reins and hopped up on the saddle.

"Where are we going, sir?" Nathaniel asked.

"There is something I want to show you boys," Thomas replied. Instead of turning toward Corin's at the road they went west. They rode in a comfortable silence; it was nearing lunch time when they approached Thondroril River. After they crossed the bridge he pulled up on the reins and slid down from Granite's back. Nathaniel shimmied down off the mare, followed by his brother. Thomas led the group into the woods; it took him a minute to find what he was looking for. The grass had overgrown his work those years ago but the stones were still there and all around them brilliant wildflowers.

"Nathaniel," he said. "This … is where I buried your mother." He had sat the family down yesterday and told them the story of Nathaniel's birth, leaving nothing out.

His son knelt and placed a hand on one of the cool river stones. "The flowers are pretty," he said.

"Sometimes when I pass through these parts I take time to plant a few more seeds," Thomas pulled out a small pouch and handed it to Nathaniel. He poured some seeds in his hand and sprinkled them over the grave. Foster offered him his hand, and some seeds were given. The boys showered the ground with them. Afterwards Thomas brought them to the riverside; Foster eyed the stream suspiciously after all these years his eldest had never gotten over his fear of water. Spreading out a blanket he took out the lunch Norah had packed.

The boys joked with each other as they ate. Thomas noticed Nathaniel needed reassurance that all was the same as it had been the day before between him and Foster. His brother was willing to supply all the assurance he needed. They were in middle of wresting over the last cookie when Nathaniel's head jerked up alarmed and looked over his father's shoulder. The warning came too late and he felt a burning sensation in his left shoulder a second before the sound of gun fire reached him.

He had no weapon; there hadn't been bandit sightings in years. Rolling with the pain Thomas quickly got to his feet and turned around. He was looking down the barrel of a rifle being held by Zach Dixon. Behind him was a wagon with their worldly goods, his daughter Wendy was sitting meekly on the cart, the right side of her face swelling from bruises. His son Vance was nowhere to be seen.

"What the hell are you doing?" Thomas demanded. "By the Light, they'll hang you!"

"No one will ever know," Zach said as he pulled the trigger. At the same moment Nathaniel appeared slamming into the older man, causing his shot to go wild. Thomas used the distraction to close the distance between the two of them. Nathaniel let out a yelp as Zach kicked him, but by then Thomas was on him. Pushing the barrel of the gun down and to the side with his injured arm he brought his free hand up colliding with the chin of the other in a sickening crunch. As Zach stumbled back Thomas jerked the gun free and threw it into the nearby river.

"Foster!"

Nathaniel's shout was followed by a loud splash. Glancing over his shoulder Thomas spotted his youngest tackling Vance, Zach's son.

"Help!"

Thomas quickly found the source of the cry; Foster was floundering in the river as the strong current drew him away. Vance kept Nathaniel from helping his brother. "Pa, save him!" his youngest son yelled.

"Don't make me choose," Thomas begged silently.

Zach had gained his footing and was approaching once more; a long deadly knife appeared in his hand. Thomas's arm was aching something fierce, he was losing blood and with it strength.

There was a second splash and Thomas spotted Wendy swimming toward Foster, her dress lying on the bridge. "Woman you get back in that wagon," Zach shouted. Ignoring her father she got an arm around Foster and struggled to get them both to the shore.

Taking advantage of the diversion Thomas sprang on Zach, knocking him to the ground. As the men struggled he felt the cold blade cut into his injured arm but he ignored the pain. Grabbing the wrist that was wielding the knife he snapped it like he would a twig. At the same time he brought his palm down hard on the exposed neck crushing Zach's windpipe. Using the same blade that was dripping with his blood he turned the knife on its owner and slit the throat of the man that dared to threaten his family.

As Zach gasped his last gurgled breath, Thomas stood up and looked to see how his boys were fairing. Wendy had gotten Foster to the riverbank on the far side and his son was on his hands and knees coughing up the water he had swallowed. Relief he felt was short lived when he could find no sign of his other son. "Nathaniel!" he shouted.

There was no answer. Stumbling over to where he had last seen the fair-haired child he saw a pool of blood. "Nathaniel," he cried again as the loss of blood overcame him and he fell to his knees. "No …" he said, shaking his head trying to fight the darkness that was closing in. In the end it would not be denied and he fell forward his hand falling into the small puddle of crimson.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter Nineteen – **_Foster Conway, Age 12_

"Pa!" Foster shouted as he raced toward his father. He had to run around the river and across the bridge to reach him, barely glancing at the body of Mr. Dixon as he ran by. At his heels was Wendy, her underclothing still wet from the river. They knelt down next to his father and gently rolled him over. "We need to stop the bleeding." Wendy said. She tore the bottom of her petticoat and pressed the cloth down over the cut on his father's arm. She placed Foster's hand over it, "hold it tight," she instructed.

She used a second wad of cloth to push into the bullet wound in the shoulder. "He's losing blood from behind too," Foster said, despairing at the ragged breaths his father was taking. "Help us!" he shouted, "someone help us … please …"

"There is no one around to hear our shouts," Wendy said sadly, "I'm sorry … so sorry."

There was a loud splash and Foster looked over at the river, forging its way across was a large chestnut horse, on its back a man.

"Please," Foster called out, not knowing if it was friend or foe. "Please help him!"

"Come on, Mirador," the man said urging the horse. Once across he leapt down and knelt beside Foster. "What happened?" the stranger asked as he took Pa's tunic off.

"We were attacked …"

"By my father," Wendy said, "I'm so sorry … my father had an awful mean streak in him …"

"Is he the one responsible for the bruises on your face, my lady," asked the man as his hand started to glow over Pa's wounds.

Wendy looked down, "yes, sir, my punishment for aiding the Conways yesterday … he wasn't right in the head anymore …"

"Where is the brute now?" the man asked.

Foster watched the bullet hole close and gasped. "How are you doing that?"

"Put your faith in the Light, and all is possible," the man replied. "Answer my question."

Foster pointed over to the still form of Mr. Dixon. "He's dead; my father killed him before he fell."

"Saves me the trouble," the man said. "Pardon me, Miss, being your father and all …"

"He stopped being my father a long time ago," Wendy said. "Please is Foster's pa going to be okay?"

"I've closed the wounds," the man said, "but he's lost a lot of blood. We will need to wait and see … he has the strength within him."

Foster took off his riding cloak and draped it over Wendy's shoulders. "Wendy, please stay with my father I need to go find my brother." He walked over and reached for the bloody knife near Mr. Dixon. A hand wrapped around his wrist before he could grab it.

"That is not for a child," the stranger said. "Where is your brother?"

"I don't know, sir," Foster said, "last I saw he was struggling with Vance …"

"Vance?"

"That man's son," Foster said, pointing. "He's as mean as his father … please I need to go, I promised my brother I'd protect him. If anything happened to Nathaniel …"

"Stay with your father," the man said. "I know these lands like the back of my hand. If this Vance had meant to kill your brother he would have done it, no he wants a hostage. I'll be back …"

"Wait," Foster said frustrated. "I don't even know who you are, why would I trust you?"

"I just saved your father's life," the man said with a growl. "As for who I am? I'm just an old foolish man. Stay here!"

Foster watched as the man swung up on the back of his horse and after looking at the ground a few moments urged his mount into the forest. "Foster?" Wendy said. He looked over at her; he'd never paid her much attention, older than him she wasn't in the same circle of friends. It dawned on him she probably had no friends her own age, and her father had been cruel to her.

"Yes, my lady," Foster said kneeling down beside her.

"Don't call me that," she said as her cheeks flushed. "I was wondering if we should go for help, one of us that is? There has to be a homestead near here."

"I won't leave my family," Foster said. "Can you ride?"

"I used to have a pony before my mother …" her voice trailed off, "yes I can ride."

Nodding Foster ran to where Nutmeg was hobbled, freeing her he walked over to Wendy who was slipping back on her dress. "Your pa really do that to you … for helping us?" he asked when she brushed her loose hair from her face.

"He liked his drink," she said. Foster offered her his cupped hands, she stepped into them and he lifted her up so she could get into the saddle.

"Try to the southwest," Foster said, "I kind of remember of farm that way, be careful."

As she rode off Foster took the quilt they had ate lunch on and laid it over his father's still form. His breathing was light but steady, giving him comfort. "Please be okay, Pa," he pleaded. "We need you!"


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter Twenty – **_Nathaniel Conway, Age 10_

He didn't want to wake up, conscious brought pain and he'd had his full. However, his keeper wouldn't be denied and the water poured on his face threatened to drown him if he didn't awake. Choking he roused, sitting up … the rope around his neck pulled taut reopening wounds. In the dim light he saw Vance smiling at the other end. His hands were bound behind him, and the filthy gag he'd been force into before he'd passed out was still wedge between his teeth preventing him from calling out.

"You hear him?" Vance hissed. "The old fool has walked past us twice, calling your name. Stupid blind idiot probably couldn't find his way out of a paper bag. Once it's full dark we'll go find my Pa, he has big plans for you. I just wanted your ring but Pa thinks we can sell you for gold … being an elf child all, bunch of faggots."

Nathaniel heard a voice he didn't know shouting out his name. He looked around the small cave Vance had dragged him into. In the darkness he couldn't see the bloodstains that had to be there from the beating he had gotten earlier. Vance seemed to read his mind and reached for the club lying near. Not able to help himself, Nathaniel flinched.

Vance let out a dark laugh. "Don't worry," he said. "Pa wants you able to be sold and you put on the dress like I told you too … after some persuasion."

His cheeks grew warm as he glanced down at the simple flower dress he had put on before passing out.

"Knew it would fit you," Vance said with a smirk. Just then the shouting grew closer and his captor quickly moved behind him pulling the rope around his neck tight, threatening to strangle him. Nathaniel went limp catching Vance off-guard. Then he slammed his head back colliding with the teen behind him. Ignoring the rope he struggled to the mouth of the cave but was jerked off his feet hard. Gagging he laid where he had fallen as Vance approached, club in hand. With his arms still bound behind him there was nothing he could do when the weapon lowered.

There was a brilliant flash and Vance staggered back; in the light from the setting sun, at the entrance of the cave, stood a man that was a stranger to both boys. In right hand was a large glowing hammer. The man stepped inside and as Vance made a move to charge, another spell was cast that knocked the teen back, dazing him. Kneeling beside Nathaniel gentle fingers worked on the rope that had buried itself in his skin. Vance rushed again and the man let out a soft growl as he cast a third spell. This one caused his capture to stumble and hitting his head as he fell, he lay where he landed.

"That annoyance is taken care of," the man said. As he slipped the noose over Nathaniel's head his fingers brushed against his bruised ears. Vance had taken great fun in pinching the new formed flesh. "I didn't expected to find an elf child, are you Nathaniel?" He asked as he slipped the gag off.

His mouth too dry to talk, he nodded. Tender hands sat him up and took the ropes off his sore wrists. "How can one so young be so evil?" the stranger asked with a sigh. The man cradled Nathaniel. The boy felt magic swirl around his beaten body, it was different from the touch of his mother, fiercer, it overcame him and he shuddered. "Shh…" the stranger said. "You're pretty beat up; we can't return you to your family like that."

"Pa …" Nathaniel whispered hoarsely.

"I healed him before I came looking for you," the man said as he stood, still holding him. He stepped outside and Nathaniel saw a large chestnut horse standing nearby. "Easy, Mirador," the man whispered as he set the boy up on the saddle. "Here," his savior said giving Nathaniel a canteen that hung off the saddle horn. "Drink just a little at a time." The lukewarm water inside tasted like the sweetest honey to Nathaniel as he wet his parched tongue with small sips.

The stranger went back into the cave and returned a short time later with Vance stumbling behind him, his hands tied with the same rope he'd used on Nathaniel. With his other hand the man took his horse's reins and started walking. It dawned on the boy what he was still wearing and he started ripping the dress off. The man paused and walked over to his saddle bag. He handed Nathaniel an oversized shirt to put on and then continued on their way.

Nathaniel's ears picked up the sound of many excited voices; the man heard the same a few minutes later and paused. "This is where we part ways," he said as he helped Nathaniel down.

"Sir?" he asked confused.

"Just keep heading that direction," the man said pointing, "you'll see the river soon enough." There was a flash of light and Vance let out a loan moan. "I've incapacitated that one, with a small stun … shouldn't give you any trouble."

"You're a paladin," Nathaniel said.

"I was once," the man replied. "Go now, May the Light be with you." With that he swung up on his horse and rode off.

Nathaniel gripped the end of the rope in his hand tightly and walked toward the sound of voices. To his relief he picked out Foster's from the crowd. Stepping out into the clearing he wasn't noticed at first, then someone shouted and he was surrounded. Foster found him and hugged him tightly. "Damn it, Baby Brother," he said, "You've been gone for hours, we were afraid you were no longer in the area."

"Pa?" Nathaniel asked looking around.

"They put him in a wagon a bit ago," Foster said, "they were going to take him home. He… he hadn't woke up yet."

"What do we do with this one?" A man asked that held onto Vance.

"He's just a kid," someone else said.

"Brother," Nathaniel whispered, "don't let him hurt me any more."

"Never again, Baby Brother," Foster promised.

"The elf looks no worse for wear," a man said, ruffling Nathaniel's hair.

"That's because the paladin healed me," he said defensively.

"Paladin?" someone said, "what paladin?"

"He rode away," Nathaniel said with a shrug, "on a big chestnut horse."

A knowing look was exchanged between the adults. "We'll take the boy to Andorhal and let them deal with him," a man said as Vance was loaded into a wagon.

Someone walked up to the boys. "You two should come with us, we'll send word to your folks."

"No, sir," Foster said. "We're going home."

"It will be dark soon," the man said.

"We'll be okay," Nathaniel replied, "as long as we have each other."

"Is it okay if I go with you?" Nathaniel glanced over at the girl that had spoken; it was Vance's sister, Wendy. "There is nothing left for me here."

Foster nodded and Nathaniel watched him help her up onto Nutmeg. Soothing Granite Foster climbed up onto the saddle and offered his hand to his brother. Once Nathaniel was up on the saddle they said their farewells and hurried home.

They hadn't ridden far when Nathaniel started to shift around trying to find a spot where his legs wouldn't chafe. "Baby Brother?" Foster asked glancing back at him.

"My legs are sore," Nathaniel said, "just trying to find a comfortable place, where they won't rub."

Foster reached back and touched his bare thigh. "What the hell?" he growled. "Where are your pants?"

Nathaniel flinched and his hands shook. "I … he … please, I don't want to …" He felt shameful tears start to fall.

"Fuck!" Foster's shout echoed through the darken forest. "We'll get stronger, Baby Brother," he growled, "no one will ever hurt us again." His brother urged their horse on and Wendy kept Nutmeg at their side. After awhile the lights from Darrowshire could be seen in the distance. "Almost home," Foster said.

"There are some horses coming," Nathaniel said, hearing the approaching hooves long before the others, "two or three being ridden hard."

"Bet you a silver coin that we're the reason," Foster answered with a smirk.

They kept riding toward the other horses and a moment later three riders came over a hill. "Thank the Light," Grant said as he held his torch up and saw both boys. "Your father woke madder than a hornet when he realized you boys weren't with him." Alongside the field hand were Carlin Redpath and York Madison.

"Pa is awake?" Foster asked, relieved.

"And mad," Nathaniel said with a sigh.

"Not at you, child," Carlin said. "You will bring your family much joy; allow us to escort you back home."

Foster noticed Wendy hanging off to the edge of the group. "Please come with us," he said. The teenager nodded and they urged the horses into a gallop.

Soon they were pulling up in front of their house and the door flew open, their ma and sisters ran out. Nathaniel and Foster found themselves the recipients of many hugs and kisses. Leaving the horses in Grant's care they were ushered inside where they found their father resting on the couch, looking pale but alert. After the initial embrace their pa looked them over. "No worse for wear," he said, "thank the Light."

Nathaniel made no mention of the healing he had received; he couldn't see where the news of his beating would bring any good. They did fill their father in on the paladin that had saved him and freed Nathaniel. "Tirion Fordring," their father said, "they call him a traitor to the crown but this is the second time he's come to our aid. I pray the Light continues to watch over him." His eyes darkened at the mention of Vance. "He's just a child, perhaps he can still be molded into a force of good. I'll send a note to Andorhal tomorrow."

Nathaniel excused himself and hurried up to his room. Carefully taking off the oversize shirt he stood for a moment naked in front of a mirror. The elf that looked back at him was still a stranger. The physical wounds were gone, he double checked by turning around slowly in front of the mirror. He knew the ones people couldn't see would last longer. In the reflection he saw Foster walk into the room, their eyes met. There was vigor in his brother's gaze that hadn't been there this morning. He was sure he shared the same; they had lost their innocence this day.

"Ma is healing Wendy's face," Foster said, walking over to their dresser and tossing clothes at Nathaniel who caught them. "Seems I'm no longer the oldest in the family. They are going to take her in; she'll sleep in Janice's room."

"Good," Nathaniel said, slipping a shirt over his head. "She's a gentle soul; hopefully we can help her heal on the inside too."

"I'll try my hardest," Foster said, looking intently at him. Nathaniel knew he wasn't just referring to their new sister.

"Me too," Nathaniel said, allowing himself to smile. "We're going to be okay, Brother."

* * *

_Author's Note: Where about to experience our next time skip, one that lasts many chapters. My boys will now be 'legal' in my eyes, though not immediately there will be a couple of boy/girl sex scenes. There are no slash/yaoi __**sex**__ scenes in this story but there will be affection shown between males (including chaste kisses, I favor foreheads it's enduring to me); especially once the elves are more prominent. Just wanted to point out what you were getting into as the story progressed. Thank you for the reviews, watches, and favorites! ~ K_


	21. Chapter 21

_In year 613 of the King's Calendar – Alliance Splinters: Unaware of the death cults forming in their lands, the leaders of the Alliance nations began to bicker and argue over territorial holdings and decreasing political influence. The high elves of Silvermoon brusquely rescinded their allegiance to the Alliance. In the wake of the elves' departure, Gilneas and Stromgarde seceded as well._

**Chapter Twenty-One – **_Nathaniel Conway, Age 20_

Nathaniel loved the thrill of the hunt. The buck he had his eye on was grazing upwind from him. Taking the longbow from his back he nocked an arrow and brought it up. His father would scold him for taking a shot so far back, more danger of the arrow not hitting true and prolonging the suffering of the animal. Nathaniel had no such trepidation as he let his arrow go. It soared true and struck the animal in the chest, piercing its heart. It stumbled once and fell. There was no question in the young elf's mind that the bow he sported was enchanted. He let out shrill whistle to signal his success and call for aid in transporting his kill.

Approaching the animal cautiously, to ensure it was truly dead, an injured animal was a dangerous one. However, like expected the arrow had done its duty. Turning the buck onto its back Nathaniel took out a sharp knife and began to field dress the deer for hauling back to the house. A whistle echoed and he returned it, a short time later his brother appeared. He studied Foster as he approached; there was no denying his resemblance to their father. With his short dark hair and his youthful body had filled out, lean and muscular. Nathaniel was the exact opposite; he had grown his light blond hair out to mimic the elf he had seen those many years ago. He had it pulled up in a high ponytail when he hunted, to keep it out of his face. His body had filled out some as well; his arms were well defined from the hunting and fieldwork he did. But his body would forever be lean compared to Foster's frame. Nathaniel had also overtaken his brother in height, standing a couple inches taller than him.

Foster unsheathed his own knife as he dropped a stout stick and rope down beside them. "Good kill, Baby Brother," he said, "like always."

Nathaniel acknowledged the compliment with a nod. "Our stores are getting depleted quicker as our family grows. Speaking of growing family have you asked her yet?"

"Nay," Foster said, "I want to build my house first. I don't want to be like Wendy and York who had to live in the tack room for a year after they married."

"That tack room has taken good care of others," Nathaniel said as he finished gutting the deer, taking caution to bag the heart and liver for his mother. He grabbed the two rear legs and bound them together. Foster did the same for the front legs and afterwards they slid the heavy staff between the legs and each taking an end to their shoulders.

"I'll ask Bethany in good time," Foster said as they walked back to the homestead. "She'll wait for me."

"Janice seems to be enjoying her task as the new school teacher in Corin's," Nathaniel said. "I hope some nice man takes a fancy to her …"

"Like the men Pa has to beat off a stick from Sara?" Foster laughed. "I think Jenna is the only sane sister we have."

"She went to Stormwind to study to be a priestess," Nathaniel said with a sigh. "I don't understand why she had to go so far away. She could have gone to Stratholme or at least if she'd gone to Capital City it would have taken a week to visit her but we'll be lucky to see her again all the way in Stormwind."

"I know, Baby Brother," Foster said as the house came into sight. "I miss her too, but that was where she was needed."

"Aw did you have to kill it?"

Nathaniel looked over at the young girl swinging on a rope swing, Lucy, the daughter of York and Wendy. "We need food for our bellies, baby girl," he said.

"Momma plants vegetables!" Lucy said definitely.

"And they will taste awful good in our venison stew tonight," Foster replied with a grin. The men continued to carry their cargo behind the house. There they were met by their mother, Rosemary and Wendy. Foster left Nathaniel with women to continue the butchering of the deer. Their skilled hands had it completely dressed under an hour; afterwards Nathaniel was sent to the shower to clean up.

That night he sat down to a very full table, there were now almost a dozen people that shared their evening meal. Nathaniel loved the affectionate gathering of teasing and laughs. Wendy's belly was just starting show; they'd have another mouth to feed in a few months. York affectionately patted his wife's stomach and made mention that Kyle had finished his apprenticeship under their father and was a full pledged blacksmith.

A knock on the door startled the gathering; Nathaniel being the closest to the door stood up and opened it. Standing before him was a face he hadn't seen for a decade. "I've come for my bow, and for you," Lor'themar Theron said.

"You're welcome to your bow," Nathaniel said, "it has treated me well these years but I am no longer a child and I will not be accompany you anywhere, my place is with the people that love me."

The slap shocked him and there was a loud crash from behind as Foster knocked his chair over as he rushed to his brother's defense.

"This is not a debate, _child_," Lor'themar said coldly. "The gates to Quel'Thalas are closing; it is time for you to embrace your heritage. You will be leaving with me; this evening after your father fulfills his pledge and tells me how you came to his care."

"Yeah, you and what army," Foster growled from beside him.

The High Elf gestured of his shoulder; Nathaniel counted a dozen mounted and armed elves. "I have hoped they will not be needed, though," Lor'themar said.

"You can't just come in here and demand that I accompany you like some lost child," Nathaniel said angrily. "I'm an adult, damn it, I'm content with my life here …" This time he easily blocked the blow.

"You are no more an adult than a kitten is to its mother," Lor'themar said. "You will be barely old enough to qualify for the academy this year."

"Academy?" Foster asked. "We've been out of school for a few years now…"

Lor'themar sighed. "I won't even to try to argue with stupidity," he said. "Go gather whatever you wish to take with you, or I'll hogtie you and take you as you are. There is nothing here you won't forget about in a century."

Nathaniel glanced over at his father who had moved behind him. His pa squeezed his shoulder, his eyes looking incredibly sad. "We always knew this day would come," he said. "We were blessed to have you with us for as long as we did. Go pack your bags, my son." His voice broke at the last word and he glanced away, Nathaniel saw a tear fall down his grizzly face. "Foster," his father said after a moment. "Go saddle your brother's horse, please."

That was it, the decision had been made and there was nothing Nathaniel could say that would sway the men seemly in control of his life. "Fuck it," he whispered jerking away from his father's touch, he ran past the rest of his family and stormed up the stairs slamming the door to his room. That elf wanted a child he certainly had one now.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter Twenty-Two – **_Thomas Conway, Age 45_

Thomas studied the elf in his family room. After Lor'themar's first appearance he had dreaded every knock on the door for months afterwards. However, months turned to years and the worry had left him. He'd hoped the elf had forgotten his oath, he should have known better. He gestured toward the chair by the fire; Lor'themar said something outside to the elves in his native tongue and shut the door. Then he joined Thomas at the hearth.

"It was twenty-years ago now," Thomas said. "I came upon some men attacking a woman, at the time I wasn't aware she was elfin, it wouldn't have matter regardless. I intervened but they had mortally wounded her. She told me to 'save him' and place my hand on her full-term pregnant belly. I could feel the baby kick as she breathed her last, I did as she asked."

"And what of the men that attacked her?" the elf asked sharply.

"Killed them, sir," Thomas replied, this got an approving nod from Lor'themar. "I buried her where she fell. I could show you the grave but I am sure her body has long since returned to the earth. She had nothing but her robe about her. I searched the bodies of her killers and found a ring the same ring you returned to my son those years ago."

"Ah, her son must have attuned to her Sunwell Ring while she was carrying him," the elf said.

"Afterwards I brought the child home," Thomas said. "My wife and I talked over what to do. At the time High Elves were more myth than reality to us and your dwelling far away. With two small children already …"

Lor'themar cut him off with a wave of his hand. "What is done is done," he said, "I was just hoping for information to reunite the child with his true father."

Thomas flinched at the words, forcing himself to remain calm. "I'm sorry I can offer no more details about his mother."

"The time frame of his birth is enough," Lor'themar said. "Births are rare among our people because of our extensive life-spans. There will be documentation back at Silvermoon that should lead us to his family." The elf lost his cold look and for a moment warmth entered his sapphire eyes. "I know this is hard on your family, you have cared for him the best you could. Waiting will not make the pain any easier, call your son down and let him say his good-byes. I will wait outside."

With a slight bow the elf stood and walked out shutting the door behind him. Norah ran over and Thomas embraced her. "We knew this day would come," he whispered. "I'm sorry for the tears on your cheeks." He opened his arms and Sara joined in the embrace.

"What about Janice?" his youngest asked. "She'll be destroyed if she doesn't get to say goodbye."

"We can ask that they leave through Corin's and give him a moment to say his farewells," Thomas said. "We'll have to write Jenna and break the news, best we can do for her so far away." He looked out at the group of somber people. "I need you all to be strong for his sake. My heart is breaking but this is the right thing to do, he needs to know his people. As much as I would love him to be, he's not a human and he will be around long after we're gone." That got him nods as the women brushed tears from their cheeks. York embraced Wendy, whispering to his wife and child after Lucy joined in on the hug.

The minutes dragged by and with a heavy sigh Thomas walked upstairs to collect his son. He had no illusions that this would be the last evening he and Nathaniel would be together and it took all his strength to knock on the closed door. "Come on, son," he said through the door. "This isn't making it any easier on your mother … think of her." There was no answer. Thomas turned the knob and was relieved to find it unlocked. He stepped inside to discover the dresser drawers open as his son had gone through his clothes to decide what he would take with him and what would remain behind. The shelf that held his old teddy bear was also empty. And so was the room. Thomas's heart leapt at the sight of the opened window. "He wouldn't have," he whispered.

He ran over to the window and looked out; there was no movement down below. "Damn it," he said turning around and racing downstairs. The elves outside looked over at him as he dashed outside. He paid them no heed and ran over to the barn. "Foster!" he shouted. The reply he didn't expect to come didn't. Both of the stables that held his boys' horses were empty. "Damn it," he said again, with a smirk.

"Is there a problem?" Lor'themar said from behind him.

"It seems my sons are quite serious on their promise to watch each other's backs," Thomas said. "May the Light protect them."

Lor'themar shouted some commands and afterwards his companions ran off in various directions. After a moment there was a shout from behind the house, and the elf troupe mounted their cockatrices. Thomas caught Lor'themar's arm. "If you catch up to them, tell Nathaniel he's loved and please don't hurt his brother … they have a bond like none I have seen."

He was reassured by a quick nod. "There is no 'if'," Lor'themar said tensely. "The Farstriders have never lost a trail before and your boys are leaving an obvious one."

As the elf raced off, Thomas smiled to himself. He hadn't mentioned the fact there were two other horses missing from the stables and Grant had sat out dinner tonight. "Good luck, and take care of each other, boys," he said as he headed back into the house.

* * *

_Author's Note: This is actually the last chapter we'll see through Thomas's eyes for quite awhile as the boys take a more prominent role. As always reviews are welcomed and very appreciated! ~ K_


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter Twenty-Three – **_Foster Conway, Age 22_

Foster kept his gaze on the back of his brother, trusting his elf-eyes and Bishop, his white stallion, to keep them on the right path. His mind played over the last thirty minutes, he couldn't believe he pulled it off. It had been mostly luck. He'd been lucky to find Grant in the stables, knowing the elf's hearing he had written down his instant made plan on a piece of paper. Loyal Mr. Paxton never questioned him and had led Granite and Nutmeg out of the back of the barn, cushioning their footfalls by wrapping cloth around their hooves; Foster had done the same to Bishop and Rook, his brother's Palomino. After leading them away from the farm he left them tethered and ran back to the house. Using stones against the upstairs window he had gotten Nathaniel's attention. No words were needed and the men had made their escape. Hopefully the elves were now following Grant's well made trail toward Stratholme while Nathaniel led them quickly through the dense woods in the opposite direction.

Foster studied his brother's back as they rode. He held his head up high, his hair pulled back into a hasty made ponytail. Across his back was a quiver of arrows and the longbow of the snooty elf and Foster had to grin. The moon was high in the sky before he spoke; even then he kept it to a whisper knowing he'd be heard. "Anything to report?" he asked.

Nathaniel pulled up the reins of Rook letting his brother overtake him. "Heard Grant's whistle about an hour ago, signaling he'd been caught. Should take the elves a couple more hours to backtrack to the house and find our true path, giving us a slim four hour lead. I've tried to keep us mostly to rocky ground to help with our tracks but have a feeling they're better trackers than that. We've been running the horses as hard as we can for it being dark. We're almost to Darrowmere Lake, planning to skirt the northern edge of it."

"Ah the path through the mountains to the Hinterlands," Foster said approvingly. "Try to avoid going through Caer Darrow I've heard some weird rumors as of late."

"Aye," Nathaniel agreed. "It has become a dark place, no worries, Brother."

They were on the far side of the lake when Nathaniel pulled his horse up and looked back the way they had come. Foster did the same but could see nothing in the still darken sky. "What do you see?" he asked.

"Elves," Nathaniel sighed.

"Do they see us?" Foster asked.

"Aye, shouting for me to return," Nathaniel said. "Come on, their mounts have to be just as tired as ours." He urged Rook to take off and Bishop willingly followed. Suddenly Nathaniel turned north and the horses struggled up some rocky terrain.

"Baby Brother?" Foster asked confused.

"The path to the Hinterlands," he replied. "I think …"

Soon the well worn path was revealed and the men continued their frantic escape. The sun was rising when they spotted some stone structures to the east. "The dwarves," Nathaniel said before Foster could ask. "I smell their forges and the griffons."

"They may aid us," Foster said, "They helped us before."

"They are also allies to the High Elves," Nathaniel said, uncertain.

"Were," Foster said. "I heard news that the High Elves left the Alliance, and that elf last night mentioned they were closing the gate to their homeland soon."

"If we stop and the dwarves choose not to help us," Nathaniel said, "then I'm as good as gone. Even if they do, would we make them draw their blades for us … nay, Brother, I vote we keep riding."

"Our horses are exhausted but I'm with you, Baby Brother," Foster said.

They continued their path away from the dwarves and further east, eventually breaking through the trees and into an open field. Nathaniel pulled up his horse and looked over at his brother. "Where are we?" he asked.

The men had ridden further in a night than they had their entire lives. Foster thought back to their schooling and the geography they had learned as children. "Somewhere in Hillsbrad Foothills would be my guess," he replied.

Nathanial slid down from the back of Rook and took the reins in his hand. "Run along side them for a bit," he said. "Let's give them a break."

It was easier for his brother to keep up the pace as they raced east along the mountains. Soon a large structure appeared before him and he frowned. "Thoradin's Wall," he said. "On the other side we'll find Arathi Highlands." As Nathaniel started to put his foot up into the stirrup Foster stopped him. "We need to do something first," he said. He took out his handkerchief and reached up tying it around his brother's head, tucking the slender ears inside. "Sorry, Baby Brother, know it hurts them. However, with the elves out of the Alliance we can't go around broadcasting and with the sun rising we'll most likely run into others in our flight."

"I'm fine," Nathaniel said, adjusting his new head gear slightly and then swinging up into the saddle. "Let's run the horses a little more, try to reach Arathi Highlands before we take a break. Hopefully our pursuers will also choose to rest."

Keeping the wall to their left they ran the horses alongside it, about the time Foster was wondering if it ever ended, Nathaniel spotted an opening. The road was well worn with hooves and wagon marks, Foster hoped it would make them harder to track. "Surely they will give up soon," he said, "You're just one elf …"

"It may become a matter of pride," Nathaniel said. "But I pray you are right, because if we don't stop to rest soon I'm going to fall off this saddle."

"Then I'm pulling big brother entitlement and saying we're stopping," Foster said.

"Where?" Nathaniel asked, pulling Rook back to a trot.

Foster glanced around and pointed to a small wooden grove off the road. "There," he said. "It will hide us from prying eyes and the trees will shade us."

Nathaniel didn't argue and slid off his horse, taking the reins he walked over to the coppice. Foster followed and after tying his reins off he went back to the road and hid their tracks the best he could. By the time he returned Nathaniel was already sound asleep, resting against a tree. Looking through the hastily packed bags Foster found an old quilt and draped it over his brother. "Guess I get first watch," he said with a smile. He found a spot where he could watch the road and not be seen.

Keeping an eye on a time piece his father had given him for his last birthday, he let Nathaniel sleep for a couple of hours. During that time he only saw two other people on the road, a pair of men on a horse drawn wagon. After the second hour passed he walked over to Nathaniel and shook him gently. His brother was instantly awake, though he still had dark circles under his eyes.

"How long?" he asked.

"Just a couple of hours," Foster said, "I'm sorry, wish I could let you rest longer but …"

"It's okay," Nathaniel said, handing him the quilt as he stood. "Get some rest, Brother."

"Baby Brother," Foster said as he wrapped the quilt around him. "Promise me, you'll be here when I awake … we're in this together." The subtle drop of his brother's shoulders proved Foster had guessed right. "Promise me!"

"I promised you years ago," Nathaniel said, "I won't break it now … go to sleep Brother, I'll wake you up in a couple hours."

"One hour," Foster said with a yawn. "Just in case the elves didn't stop, we'll still have an hour on them."


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter Twenty-Four – **_Nathaniel Conway, Age 20_

Nathaniel kneeled, resting on his heels, his eyes closed. A casual observer would accuse him of slacking on his watch duties, but he 'saw' things more clearly this way. The distant sound of hands working the fields, the shouts of men … it was in Common so he dismissed it. There was no approaching clatter of a dozen Hawkstriders, so he was content they were safe for the moment. He opened his eyes and there was a sudden sense of wrongness, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Bishop agreed and let out a nervous whiney.

He looked around with eyes that had never let him down before and saw … nothing. Frowning he stood and approached Rook and Bishop to calm them. Something stung him in the neck; he reached up to brush it away. His fingers found the feathery flight of the tiny dart embedded in his flesh as his legs buckled. Though not remembering making any sound he saw his brother startle awake as darkness overtook him.

He awoke to a horrendous headache and his hands tied behind him, wrapped around the trunk of a tree. There was a hood over his head, leaving him in darkness. Through the throbbing pain, he could hear an argument.

"Lay down your weapons, humans!" An annoying familiar voice demanded. "We do not want to shed your blood but we will if you come between us and our prey."

"Prey …" an unfamiliar voice replied. "I would start praying elf; we're not the type of people you want to get on the bad side of."

"You're surrounded by a dozen elves that can take out three men in seconds," Lor'themar Theron replied. "Be wise, human, we just want the elf child and my bow … you can do what you wish with the other, they have earned my ire this day."

"Elf, what elf?" the man demanded.

"Stupid human," Lor'themar growled as Nathaniel's hood was removed. He blinked at the bright light, as the angry elf in front of him pulled off the bandana revealing his lofty ears. Nathaniel used the moment to look around and to his dismay saw Foster bound to a tree across the way, a hood on his head.

"Brother!" he shouted. Foster's head turned toward him.

"I'm okay, Baby Brother," he replied, calmly. "Head spinning a bit, how did you let them sneak up on us?"

"Brother?" Nathaniel could now see the stranger was a young man, dressed all in black leather with a bright orange bandana covering the lower half of his face, a bandit.

"Not even close," Lor'themar said with a smirk.

Looking around Nathaniel could see he was in some sort of small camp, there were a half dozen men dressed as the same as the bandit. Beyond them were the archers of Lor'themar with their arrows drawn.

"I tire, human," Lor'themar said. "We do this with or without bloodshed; you have on the count of three to say … one …"

"You can have what you want," the bandit replied with a shrug. "We'll take the one; he looks to have a strong back …"

"No!" Nathaniel shouted, "Damn it, by the Light I'm sorry, Sir, I just didn't … you can't leave my brother with them … please …"

"Halduron gag him," Lor'themar said as he disappeared out of Nathaniel's sight behind him. A youthful looking elf approached, there was sympathy in his eyes but a cloth appeared in his hands.

"No," Nathaniel shouted again. "I'll be as meek as a kitten if you take him with us …"

"You say that like you'll have a choice," Lor'themar said at his ear.

Cool fingers gripped his hand and fear rippled through Nathaniel. He tried to clench his hand into a fist but pressure on a sensitive nerve caused him to cry out. At that moment the gag was placed and tied tightly. The elf behind him chanted softly and the Sunwell Ring slipped off Nathaniel's finger. It felt like getting punched in the gut and he groaned. Forcing himself to stay awake he watched as Lor'themar walked over to where his brother was pausing at the bandit he showed the man the ring. "This ring is useless to any human, in fact if another High Elf saw you with one on, they would kill you assuming you had murdered the elf wearing it." He bent down behind Foster. "A token to remember your brother by," he said. "He won't need it anymore; the Sunwell will feed his want from now on."

"Release him Halduron and put him up on his horse," Lor'themar ordered. "Then tie him down, wouldn't want him to fall off when he passes out."

"I didn't say you could have the horse," the bandit growled.

Lor'themar turned and coldly stared at the other until the bandit turned away and spat. "Whatever just get the hell out of here."

"Brother!" Foster shouted from behind his hood. "It's going to be okay, we'll see each other again. Love you, Baby Brother."

"Aw that's touching," the bandit said walking over to Foster and kicking him hard in the side. "Shut the fuck up."

Nathaniel had no strength to fight as he was put on Rook, his hands bound to the saddle horn. The elf named Halduron grabbed the reins as he swung up on his cockatrice and led him away from his brother. "I'm sorry," he thought silently as a tear fell down his cheek. "So sorry, Brother." It was too much to fight the approaching darkness so he gave into and slumped forward on his horse.

The following days were periods of painful wakefulness and even more heartrending moments when he couldn't escape the darkness and dreamt. During a time of awareness Halduron had removed the gag and was trying to get him to swallow from a canteen. Though his lips were parched Nathaniel turned his head away. That got him the strong hand of Lor'themar on his jaw as his mouth were forced opened. Afterwards the gag was replaced and darkness overtook him again. There were times he awoke off his horse and resting on a mat near a fire, the elves around him talking in their sing-song tongue. Mostly he remembers riding slumped over Rook's broad neck.

He wasn't sure how long he was kept at his state of semi-conscious, it felt like weeks. Eventually there was a sense of an approaching power reaching out to him. It felt foreign, cold, but with it his strength returned. His moments of alertness lengthened but misery remained, it just changed faces. Instead of nauseating pain that caused him to black out, he was just plain nauseated. After choking on vomit they removed his gag with a stern warning to hold his tongue. That freed him to be sick off the back of his horse; it was frequent enough he could tell those that travelled with him were growing concerned.

After one episode Lor'themar and Halduron had words in their native tongue and Lor'themar rode close to Nathaniel and pressed a hand on his forehead. Tired and ill Nathaniel jerked away. With a look of ire the elf urged his mount back to Halduron's side and they spoke again. With feverish eyes Nathaniel looked around, the land looked foreign to him. The trees were tall with brilliant white trunk, golden leaves crowned them. He was sure in other circumstances he would find his surroundings beautiful. His wrists ached, the ropes reopened the sores, and fresh blood trickled down onto the darker older stains that marred Rook's golden coat.

Halduron fell in step beside him, "Child," he said. Nathaniel ignored him; they knew his name but insisted on calling him that and he was more than willing to act childish. There was a snort and a flash of movement, a light weight fell in place behind him. Rook barely noticed the additional passenger. The elf that had been leading his horse tossed Halduron the reins.

"Are you sure we shouldn't stop at Fairbreeze Village?" he asked Lor'themar.

"They have no priests there," the elf replied. "We need to get him to Silvermoon."

"Alright, we'll see you there, sir," Halduron said as he dug his heels into the sides of Rook who took off. They left the path they had been following, weaving in and out of trees at a blinding pace. The horse seemed to respond to the elf's touch better than his owner's. After an hour of breathtaking racing, Halduron pulled up on the reins and nudged Nathaniel. "Look, Child, the magnificent city of Silvermoon awaits us," he said.

Looking up Nathaniel saw a large white wall approaching the golden and red touches, he had never seen anything look so grand and it was just a wall. He heaved but he had long since purged anything inside, so they were just gut wrenching.

"Alright," Halduron said, "you can admire the splendor of your people later, let's us find a healer."

Through a feverish haze he saw them approaching an opening in the wall and ride through after some sharp words from Halduron to the smartly dressed elves guarding outside. Once inside the town there were twists and turns before they pulled up in front of a building. A blade appeared in Halduron's hands and he cut Nathaniel free pulling him down off Rook. Dropping Nathaniel down in a nearby bench he unnecessarily said, "Don't go anywhere," with a smirk as he hurried inside. Nathaniel watched the blood from his wrists drip down onto the pristine sidewalk. It was the first time in what felt like forever he hadn't been under watch and there was nothing he could but stare stupidly at the crimson drops.

"All right," a new male voice said. "Let's get him inside before he scares away the guests."

He found himself between Halduron and another elf, being half-dragged inside, with an arm draped over each shoulder. "Sorry about the shirt," Halduron said.

"I've been splattered with worse," the man replied with a chuckle. They carried him up some stairs and a curtain was pushed aside and within was a bed, he hadn't slept in one in forever. "He's filthy …"

"We've been riding for an entire month," Halduron replied, "and he hasn't exactly been the most hospitable child, I'll pay extra for the fresh linens."

"He's not some sort of brigand is he? I mean we have a reputation here …"

"Nay just a naughty child," Halduron said as they sat him down on the edge of the bed. "Did you send for a healer?"

"I'm here," a new voice said. Blinking Nathaniel saw a young woman standing at the door. "I need a basin of warm water … better make that a tub, clean cloths, and incense lots of incense." The males stood a moment too long and she snapped her fingers, "now!"

As Halduron and the other hurried off, the female elf pulled her auburn locks back and tied them into a ponytail as she knelt down in front of him. She took one of his hands in hers and hissed at the sight of the frayed ropes. "By the Sunwell, I'll have that elf's head on a pike." Her cool fingers worked the knots and the ropes fell free.

"Why are you speaking Common?" Nathaniel asked, blushing at the weakness of his words, but it dawned on him they were speaking in words he could understand which had been a rarity these past weeks.

"Hal mentioned you couldn't speak Thalassian," the woman said as she freed the rope from his other wrist. "It would be rude …"

"Never stopped them before," Nathaniel said with a sigh.

"A really sharp pike," the woman mumbled. "My name is Belestra I'm a priestess, what is your name, Child?" As she spoke she unbuttoned his shirt and slid it off his shoulders.

"Nathaniel," he replied.

"Odd name," she said, "Okay, Nathaniel, can you tell me how long you have been feeling ill?" She laid he back and he let out a sigh at the softness of the mattress, he was startled out of his moment of reprieve when he felt her fingers working on his belt.

He grabbed her wrist, "Ma'am!" he said alarmed.

"Just undressing you so I can see what I'm working with," she replied as she freed her arm and went back to work on his belt.

"No," Nathaniel said as he reached for her again. This time his hands were grabbed by Halduron who had just entered.

"Sorry, Bel," he said, "he's been knocking his head against ours the entire trip. I can tie him back up."

"You will do no such thing," Belestra said as she grabbed the waistband of his pants and pulled it down. Nathaniel felt his face turn crimson as he now lay naked before the young elf maiden. As his hands were freed he reached for a nearby blanket but his hand was brushed away.

"Stop embarrassing yourself," Halduron said with a low growl, "your human stink is showing. Elves are not ashamed of our bodies; you'll understand when you join us for our communal baths."

Belestra raised a slender eyebrow at the comment as she knelt down beside Nathaniel. She took the blanket and laid it across his middle. "Now, Nathaniel, how long have you been sick?"

"Since they took my ring," Nathaniel said.

"Your ring?" she glanced over at Halduron who was helping emptying buckets of steaming water into a bathtub that had been brought in.

"His Sunwell Ring," Halduron replied. "He shouldn't need it here; we bask in the glory of the Sunwell here in Silvermoon."

"A child in the possession of Sunwell Ring how is that even possible?" she asked.

They talked over him as her cool hands touched his forehead. "According to Lor'themar the ring was his mother's, she died at his birth and he inherited the ring and it had been with him ever since."

"So your brilliant commander decided to take away the ring his body has been attuned to his entire life?" Belestra hissed. "Where is it now?"

"Lost," Halduron replied.

Belestra hissed something in Thalassian. "Help me get him into the bath," she said. "I can't work with him smelling like this."

His embarrassment returned as he felt her warm body press against his as they moved him into the bath. It was short lived; he let out a content sigh as he sunk into the fragrant water. Through half-closed eyes he watched Halduron shrug out of his shirt and kneel down. Gentle hands bathed him, as Belestra worked on his hair. At one point the bath was emptied and refilled as they washed the filth off him. Eventually he was clean enough for the bed and moved back. The healer placed one hand on his head and the other on his chest and he felt something warm enter his body, it felt like his mother's touch. At the thought his anger of the situation came back. Belestra felt the change and her touch soothed him, calming him.

"He's rejecting the Sunwell," she said finally.

"How is that even possible?" Halduron asked.

"I've only read about it in my text books," she said, "I need to do some research. For now he needs to rest, I'll send one of my students to keep an eye on him. During this time you shouldn't need to post a guard, we'll keep him sedated." She knelt down beside him and he felt her lips press against his cheek. "Sleep now, Nathaniel, we'll speak again soon."


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter Twenty-Five– **_Foster Conway, Age 22_

"Behind you, Foster!"

The unnecessary shout reached his ears a moment after he was already moving. Blocking the blow aimed toward his head, he brought his hand down hard on the lower arm wielding the knife. There was a satisfying sound of bone breaking; as the wrist went limp he slipped the knife out of the floundering grip. So those around couldn't order him to use the dagger he tossed it out of the ring, burying into a wooden beam. Standing up he brushed his busted lip with the back of hand and backed away from his opponent that struggled to stand.

"Finish the green-skin off!"

Foster sighed at Art's order; he'd avoided killing so far and didn't want to stop the trend now. "He is finished," Foster growled walking toward the edge of the pen he was fighting in. That is when the orc behind him charged. Easily dodging the rush Foster brought his elbow down on the injured orc's back. At the same time he slammed his boot into the stout lower leg, his foe fell to the ground with a grunt. "Stay down," Foster said.

He walked over to the metal cage door and held his hands outside a small rectangle cut into the mesh. Arthur Burton walked over and slid the cold iron manacles around his wrists. Only then was the door opened, and the orc's owner rushed in to assess the damages. Foster was led through the barn the match had taken place in like a dog on a leash. Arthur handed his chains off to his son Jasper as he went around collecting his winnings. The younger Burton latched his chains onto a nearby beam and took out a canteen. He offered it to Foster who said a soft thanks and let the man pour the water into his mouth. Afterwards Jasper looked him over, taking a moment to tend the bite the orc had given him on the shoulder.

"Nasty," he said as he spread an ointment on the wound and covered it with a loose bandage. He ran his hands down Foster's legs looking for injuries. "Anything busted?" he asked.

"No, sir," Foster answered.

The other man patted him on the ass, it was not a sexual touch, nothing more than any owner would do when his prized hound fought well. "Good job," he said. Foster rested his head on his raised arms and waited. The shame of being in such a position had been bled out of him over the past weeks.

"How did we do, Pa?" Jasper asked as Art returned.

"Eh, we did well enough to put food on the table," he said as he unhooked the chain and led Foster out of the barn. The cool night air chilled his bare sweat streaked chest.

"The odds were heavy in the orc's favor," Foster said. "You should have done very well … sir." He added the last word quickly.

Art chuckled dryly and the crop he held lashed Foster across the thigh. He took it in stride and showed no reaction. "You let me worry about money and be happy you'll have food in your bowl tonight, Foster."

"Yes, sir," Foster said. He didn't have the heart to be lied to tonight, so didn't ask how much longer he had until his winnings compensated the man back the gold he'd paid to buy him from the bandits. He climbed into the wagon and let the shackle be latched to the side. As the cart bounced along, he looked up at the star covered sky.

The past weeks had been an adventure, too bad it wasn't the good kind. After the elves had taken Nathaniel away, Foster had spent a week with the bandits. During that time he was a frequent target of their frustration over things that were beyond his control. Though the beating he got after Bishop escaped was his own fault. He'd set the horse free with the command to go home. He had no idea if the stallion would be able to do such a feat but it was better than being forced to watch him bear another man. After that they had sold him to the Burton family who was not beyond slavery.

Foster was the only one though that didn't have the emerald skin. During the day he worked alongside the males Kobug and Skang in the fields. The lone female slave who was also an orc, Nignath, tended the kitchen as well as the garden. There didn't seem to be any females living here beyond the orc. He'd only been in his new unwanted position a couple nights before he and Skang were brought to his first arena match. After that the Burtons only brought Foster leaving the orcs behind.

He had tried demanding that he was a freeman the first weeks. That was met with laughs and comments that men that are free are not sold for gold. Then he tried to persuade them with the riches his father had if they would but return him to his family. It was lie all they would find would be the end of his father's shotgun. For a moment Jasper seemed tempted but the distance was too far. In the end they chose to keep him in chains and exploit him not only in the ring after the sun went down but also in the fields harvesting their crops.

As they pulled up to the Burton's homestead there was a ruckus happening in front of the barn. The older of the orc males was bound, hanging from his chains in the middle of the barn door.

"Wonder what that stupid dung eater did now?" Jasper growled.

"Looks like Percy has it under control," Arthur replied with a shrug. "But let's see what's up, perhaps it will be a good lesson for the cocky one in the back."

Percy was Arthur's foreman, and even meaner than his boss. Jasper unhooked Foster's chains and he followed him over to barn. He found that the other slaves were also there and Jasper dropped his chain near Nignath.

"What's going on here?" Arthur asked.

"This green-skin tried to escape tonight," Percy said. "Darn near took my arm off with a garden hoe …" Foster just noticed the foreman arm was bandaged.

"Is that so?" Arthur said. "Well he did you the injustice; return the favor by all means."

The older orc's tunic had already been removed and his scarred back from previous corrections was soon covered with new welts as the whip Percy held cut into his flesh. Foster lost count of the blows and just wished for it to end. The whip finally stopped falling but their demented owners weren't done yet and Foster grimaced at the sight of the fiery brand Jasper held when he reappeared.

He couldn't just stand there and made a slight motion to move forward when Nignath's fingers wrapped around his wrist and she shook her head. By then the brand had found the back of the orc and Foster admired his strength when all he did was grunt. Once it was removed there was fancy B burnt into the flesh. That was the second Burton brand the orc now displayed.

"You're mine green-skin," Arthur hissed. "Now get these dung-eaters out of my sight. Foster, you can eat your dinner on the back porch tonight."

He felt like a coward for not arguing as the three orcs were led off, they would be put into the cellar where the four of them slept. Foster walked over to porch and sat down, he was shadowed by Percy who secured his chains onto the banister. He returned a short time later and squatted down with a bowl in his hand. Foster was relieved to find chicken and a crumbled biscuit. "Boss said you did good," Percy said. "So no dog food for you tonight, eat up."

With his hands still bound Foster had no choice but to take the food directly from the bowl Percy held. He didn't trust the man and kept expecting the bowl to be dropped or something. However, it never waivered and he finished it. "Thank you," he said, keeping his eyes down. Percy stood and returned a moment later with the some water in the bowl. "I will get back home," Foster thought silently as he dipped his head to take a drink. It tasted off and he pulled back looking up at Percy.

The foreman smirked, "Drink it," he said. "Has a special potion in it the boss bought, suppose to make you stronger."

"I've been doing well," Foster said, reluctant. "Please …"

"Drink it," Percy voice became icy and Foster lapped up the bitter tasting drink. Rough hands grabbed his chin and tilted his head up. "Swallow," he commanded. A little bit of the liquid dripped down his chin as Foster and the other faced off for a moment. Just as Percy started to reach for him he swallowed and gagged. Opening his mouth to prove he had drunk it. "Don't get an attitude now, Foster," Percy said. "You're a smart man; you've figured things out quickly. Just do as we say and we'll treat you fair enough."

His captor sat down his bowl and led him over to the iron door behind the barn. He slid the thick bar off and motioned for Foster to open it. Only then were the chains removed and he motioned inside. Foster jumped down and ducked to avoid being hit on the head as the heavy doors clang shut. The darkness was absolute to him. A strong arm grabbed him around the waist; he didn't fight it as he was lifted and set down. "Throm'ka, Foster," Skang said softly. "Kobug is asleep on the floor." He said explaining the reason for the manhandling.

"How's he doing?" Foster asked, settling down on the thin mat that was his bed.

"I'll survive," the older orc said, proving he was not asleep. "It will take more than this to break me … I was foolish tonight."

"I'm sorry," Foster said. "They favor me for the arena, leaving you here with Percy."

"Not your fault," Skang said. "I get no joy in combating my people. You continue keeping our jailors pleased, it trickles down to us. We had meat in our bowls tonight."

"Just don't ask me what kind of meat it was," Nignath said from her corner.

"It could be rat meat for all I care," Kobug snorted.

"Good guess, Uncle," Nignath replied. "Did I see a bandage on your shoulder, Foster?"

"Dabu," Foster said, "one of your kin took a chunk out of me."

"And you to him?" She asked as she moved over him. His eyes had adjusted so he could see her move around their small cell. It was barely long enough for the four of them to lie down to sleep. "I broke some bones," he admitted.

She nodded and he turned around so she could take the bandage from his shoulder. Her thick fingers poked the sore causing him to wince. "The salve they put on it is useless, just a moment." Her broad thumb rubbed the tender spot, with each circle the pain lessened until it disappeared. "I'll never understand human cruelty," she said as she moved back to her blanket.

"You orcs aren't exactly kittens," Foster said with a smirk.

"We always strive for honor," Kobug said. "What purpose is it to hold us here against our wills and treat us worse than animals?"

"So you are saying I would be treated better by your people?" Foster asked.

"You would be granted a quick death," Skang said. "That is better than living in a cage."

"That I agree with," Foster said as he settled down to sleep. Morning came early for them and with the late night fights; he needed all the sleep he could get to keep pressing on. Someday there would be a chance and he would have to be ready to take it.


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter Twenty-Six– **_Nathaniel Conway, Age 20_

Lor'themar grumbled something in Thalassian. "Speak in Common, so Nathaniel can understand," Belestra said coolly.

"If he wants to understand he should learn our language," the elf said, matching her tone.

"He's been here for a week and in poor health," she replied, "because YOU took something you had no right to do."

"Speaking of the child or his ring," Lor'themar said.

"The ring though we may find out you are right on both accounts," she said as she took her seat beside Nathaniel's bed. At one point during the past week they had moved him out of what he had assumed was an inn to a quiet room in another building. He liked it because it had a door that could close but they had removed the knob to prevent him from locking it.

Belestra picked up a smoldering rolled up thistle and after inhaling gently blew the smoke in Nathaniel's face. He breathed in; the smoke numbed his throat and gave him a lightheaded feeling.

"I repeat then in Common," Lor'themar said, "I can't believe you're intentionally making him into a thistle-head. That's all we need to hand over to his family an illiterate addict."

"It's a temporary solution," she replied as she blew more smoke into Nathaniel's face. "Speaking of family, any progress on that front? Having emotional support during this period would be great. All he has is a couple of grumpy Quel'dorei for company."

Nathaniel pushed himself up into a sitting position, adjusting his simple tunic. "Why do you always speak like I'm not even here," he said. "I have a family, one I wish dearly to return to. If my brother hasn't escaped his keepers I need to find him, our crops will be due to be harvested soon and without Foster or me … Pa will have his hands full."

"Hopeless, one thought child …" Lor'themar said. "See that fancy bracelet on your wrist, let me show you something." Brushing Belestra aside, the Ranger wrapped Nathaniel's arm around his neck and stood him up. He walked him over to the window and pointed outside. "See that statue there, the one over the fountain in front of our Spire. I had a mage place an identical bracer on it. If you step outside Silvermoon's walls it will instantly teleport you back to its partner. I made sure your landing would be soft … wet … but cushioned. There is no more 'going home' you are home and the sooner you face that fact, _**child**_ the sooner you can move forward."

Nathaniel stared at the bracer in disgust; it looked like a solid piece of gold with engravings on it.

"It would take someone with more skill than you possess to remove it from your wrist." Lor'themar said with a smirk as he dropped Nathaniel back down on his bed. "And around the fountain are Arcane Guardians that are program to incapacitate anyone seen defacing the statues and they hurt a lot more than a fall into the fountain. Don't worry we'll remove it someday," he said with a smirk, "perhaps on your hundredth birthday."

"Long after my family is gone," Nathaniel said sadly. He waved the smoke blown his way, away. "I'd like to be left alone," he said.

"I'll have to put you asleep if you want us to leave," Belestra said softly.

"Why?" Nathaniel growled. "I'm too weak to go anywhere; by the Light I can't even use the chamber pot on my own. What do you think I'll do, why can't I be left alone in my thoughts instead of trapped in my nightmares?"

"I do believe the child is throwing a temper tantrum," Lor'themar said coolly.

"Some day I'm going beat that smirk off your face," Nathaniel said.

"I tremble in anticipation," Lor'themar said as he turned to leave. As he did Belestra leaned forward her outer robe parted slightly to reveal a silver dagger sheathed to her belt. Moving with the speed of viper Nathaniel grabbed it and pushed her aside. At her cry Lor'themar turned but the dagger had already left Nathaniel's hand. It buried itself in the door, leaving a trail of blood along the elder's elf's cheek where it grazed it. Lor'themar wiped a hand across the cut, his eyes flashing. Belestra recovered her feet and moved between the two men.

"You pushed him too far," she said. "You need to leave now; I'll tend to your cheek in a moment."

"I'll do it myself," Lor'themar said as he turned and left.

Sighing Belestra turned and faced Nathaniel. "You know he's not a bad guy," she said. "He just has a lot going on and the Ranger-General has decided that since he claimed you until your family is found you're his responsibility."

"Ranger-General," Nathaniel said, "Sylvanas Windrunner?"

"Yes that's correct," Belestra said. "Now speaking of chamber pots, do you?"

"No ma'am," Nathaniel said with a sigh.

"I can get one of my male students to aid you if you need …"

"No ma'am," he said again. He reached for the smoldering bloodthistle but his hand was brushed aside as she picked it up.

"You're too young," she said, as she took a draw and blew the smoke toward him.

"You know that makes no sense," Nathaniel said, "why does it matter if you hold it or me, if the effect is the same?"

"Did you mean to hit him?" she asked, changing the subject.

Nathaniel shook his head and leaned back. "I didn't intend to hurt him, my aim is usually better. I just need him to shut the fuck up. I'm not thinking clearly, my thoughts are jumbled up in my head and this Sunwell business isn't helping. I'm usually the calm one of the pair."

"Pair … your brother?" Belestra asked sitting down beside him.

"Yeah," Nathaniel said, "I'm the brain and he's the muscles. Though don't get me wrong if I was in my right mind I could give Lor'themar a run for his money. Fuck, it's my fault we're in this stupid position. I was on watch why didn't I see them approach? I can spot a dragonfly from across the field."

"It was probably a rogue," Belestra said. "Even our most skilled rangers have trouble with them from time to time."

"We swore to each other we would never let another person have a hold over us," Nathaniel said. "And now I seem powerless to prevent it."

"Another, it has happened before?" Belestra asked as she blew another puff of smoke toward him. The bloodthistle was having its desire effect and he felt his nerves calming.

"A decade ago now," Nathaniel said, leaning his head back. "A boy a few years older than I … beat me up pretty badly and … did some other stuff. Since then Foster and I have trained ourselves to be pretty potent and effective combatants. We even took some time off the farm during the winters to train with the warriors in Stratholme. Though I seem more suited for distant combat, that bow of Lor'themar treated me well. I could still hold my own against others in close combat. And if my brother was with me, no one could take us." He let out a frustrated yell, startling his nurse. "If I had been in my senses those bandits wouldn't have stood a chance."

"Your brother held his own against them," Lor'themar said standing at the door. Nathaniel wondered how long he had been listening. "When I and the other Rangers came upon the fight, he was standing over you. Two men had already been incapacitated, he was working on a third when they managed to lure him away from you and then they used you as a hostage to make him surrender which he did without pause."

Belestra stood and walked over to the elf, a touch on his cheek and the cut disappeared leaving behind only the blood shed. She used a handkerchief dipped into a nearby basin to wash the crimson off.

Nathaniel blamed the bloodthistle as he dazed; watching the other two speak quietly through half closed eyelids. Halduron walked into the room and said a few words to his commander in their birth tongue; afterwards the three elves looked over at him. "What now?" he wondered silently.

There was more whispering and then Belestra approached him and sat down. "Hal brings us some news; the Silvermoon Registry has located two possibilities for your mother's name. They are trying now to track down the men that would be your father to see if you share the same blood."

"I already have a mother and father," Nathaniel said coolly.

"Do not treat your mother that way," Lor'themar said. "She gave her life … she deserves your respect if you cannot give her your love."

Nathaniel's cheeks grew warm from embarrassment and he nodded.

"I need to go," Belestra said standing. "There are others that need my attention. I'm sorry, Nathaniel, but I need to …" She placed a hand on his forehead. "I promise you I am looking for a treatment that will let you stay awake when I'm away. But for now, sleep and dream of happier times."

"I wish I could, my lady," Nathaniel replied drowsily. "Only nightmares await me."


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter Twenty-Seven – **_Foster Conway, Age 22_

Foster swung the scythe slicing through the stalks of wheat with ease. A task he'd done a hundred times before. The iron around his ankles was new though for harvest time, it kept him bound to Kobug and Skang who were following behind bundling up the wheat. The chains were heavy, though unlike the orcs Foster was permitted to wear his boots so the cold iron didn't touch his flesh. His chest was bare like the others, so the brand on his back could be seen. Pausing a moment he wiped a hand across his forehead and glanced over to where Percy was resting under the shade of a tree. Fighting the urge to ask for a drink for his parched lips, Foster went back to swinging the scythe.

"Ready yourself," Kobug whispered.

Foster turned and raised the scythe blocking a blow from Kobug. He heard Percy yell as Skang charged as well. They were shouting nonsense at him in their native tongue but Percy had no idea. It was all for show, they wanted their keepers to think there was hatred between him and the orcs. It had been Kobug's suggestion, enemy of my enemy. They took turns on who instigated the fights to spread out the discipline, except Foster refused to let Nignath fall under the whip because of it. Their keepers found other reasons to turn the leather on her back, though.

Speaking of whips, Percy's came down flogging both him and the orcs indiscriminately until they parted. "What is this all about?" Percy growled.

"They started it," Foster said with a shrug.

"He stupid," Kobug grunted.

Foster bent down hiding a grin as he picked up the scythe. The orcs always spoke to their captors in broken Common. When they were alone they could speak it as fluent as him. "Says the orc who plays with his own dung," Foster replied. "Sorry, Sir," he said to Percy. "I just did enough to protect myself; I wouldn't harm Mr. Burton's property if I can help it."

"Five minute break for you, Foster," Percy said as he bent down and unchained him. "Go get a drink, the orcs can finish this row for you."

As he turned to leave, Foster mouthed his thanks and got a nod from Kobug. "Stupid humans," the orc snarled as he picked up the scythe Foster had dropped and started slicing through the wheat stalks.

"Not the most literate brutes are they?" Foster asked as he took a drink of water from a canteen. When that got him a confused look he said, "Smart … they aren't very smart."

"Nah," Percy agreed. "I'm surprised they have honored Mr. Burton's rule that four go into the cellar and four come out or else. Keep expecting to find your head on a spike when I open the latch in the morning."

"You and me both, Sir," Foster said. He finished his drink and watched the orcs out in the field. "Will I be taken out tonight, Sir?"

"Don't know," Percy said. "I didn't get any orders to be soft on you today so you're rested but that doesn't always stop Mr. Burton. You're getting quite the reputation in the ring, and the boss never could turn down a bet. Break time is over, let's go."

"Yes, Sir."

That evening he, Kobug and Skang huddled under a small lean-to made of some planks and a tarp, the weather had turned and rain was pouring down. The three men were bound back to back, in a small circle with their hands chained behind them, to one another and a large iron stake buried in the ground. Their keepers were in the warm house, giving them ability to speak freely. At the moment they were teaching him more orc words so they could speak to one another freely under the guise of augmenting. The wind blew sharply and Foster shivered, there was a shuffling behind him as the orcs shifted to take the brunt of the weather.

"You don't need to do that," he said in broken Orcish.

"I think he just called you a brown cup of trees, Uncle," Skang chuckled.

The backdoor opened and Nignath hurried out into the storm. The men parted so she could kneel down in behind them. "Just gruel tonight, sorry," she said. She dipped a cup into the bowl she held and then carefully poured the warm liquid into their mouths. She worked her way around the circle, Foster made sure she took some for herself. Soon the bowl was scraped clean and she left them to dash back into the rain and the house. The next time the door opened Percy followed her out bundled in his slicker.

Foster frowned at the rifle he carried. "Go on, whore," Percy said pushing Nignath toward the men. "Free them up, time to get you tucked in for the night."

As Foster stood Percy motioned for him to sit back down. "Not you, Foster, you're needed tonight. Chain him back up, whore."

Sighing Foster sat and let Nignath bind him to the stake. "This weather isn't fit for man or beast," he said, "who would be out in this?"

"You'd be surprised," Percy said, motioning the orcs to go in front of him with the barrel of his rifle.

Not able to help himself Foster asked about the gun. "What has you spooked, Sir, you don't need anything more than that bullwhip to persuade me."

"These orcs get all savage with this kind of weather," Percy said. "Get it in their heads they can get away and I don't feel like chasing any of them today."

Foster nodded. The ground beneath him had grown muddy along with his jeans. Percy returned, freed him from his chains and motioned him out of the tarp. In his hands were Foster's traveling manacles, he held out his arms and let them be snapped in place. He followed Percy into the barn where there were three horses saddled. This was different; his usual mode of transport was the wagon. "Can you ride?" Percy asked.

"Yes, Sir," Foster said. _"Get me up on a horse and you'll never see me again,"_ he thought silently.

The cold barrel of the shotgun pressed into his bare back. "Don't get any ideas," Percy growled as he helped Foster up onto the saddle, leaving his hands bound in front of him.

Arthur Burton came into the barn, his slicker soaked from the rain. Foster eyed the open door judging the distance. There was no more time for delay, he dug his heels into the horse and it leapt away. He heard Percy curse but was already out of the barn and urging his mount into a gallop. They let him reach the edge of the corral before there was a sharp whistle and his mount pulled up. Cursing Foster urged the horse to go on, there was a second whistle and he found himself bucked off, he crashed to the ground hard.

"Guess orcs aren't the only stupid ones," Percy said as he walked over, gun held casually in his hands.

"To his credit this is the first time he's tried since we bought him," Arthur said as Percy dragged him to his feet. "It was a test, one you failed miserably. We will have to deal with that little oversight when we get back, for now, you have a date at Gilbert's. Seems he has acquired an orc he is quite proud of." He was urged to get back onto the horse and followed obediently behind Arthur as they left the homestead. The weather beat down on him as they traveled, he was completely drenched and shivering from the cold by the time they approached a farmhouse surrounded by a dozen wagons.

"You can't expect me to fight like this, Sir," he said through chattering teeth.

"Not only fight but win," Arthur said. He gave Foster a once over. "Clean him up, Percy, they like it when he's pretty."

"Yes, Sir," Percy said. Once they were inside the crowded barn, Percy led him over to a corner and ordered him to sit down on a stool. Afterwards he pulled out a wicked looking razor. "Hold still," he growled. "Hate to slit that pretty throat of yours." A painful dry shaving followed as his unkempt beard was removed.

Arthur walked over and nodded his approval. "First course is almost done," he said gesturing to the makeshift cage where two orcs faced off. "You've become their favorite, Foster, which is making it hard to earn money off you. However, tonight there are even odds, I've seen your challenger he's huge. If you win I'll go light on your punishment when we get back from your earlier lapse of judgment."

"You ready, Art?" A man asked.

"Yep," Arthur said with a smile. "This boy was born ready."

Foster was led over to the pen, inside was the largest orc he'd ever seen. It must have had two feet on him and a hundred pounds. "You're sending me to my death," Foster whispered as his keeper unshackled him.

"Then die well," Arthur said shutting the cage's door and signaling the start of the fight.

Foster was already moving as the giant brute of an orc crashed where he had been a moment ago. "We don't have to fight," he shouted in Orcish.

"Surk smash!" the orc replied in Common as he charged again.

As he once again dove out of the way, Foster noticed a lack of intelligence in the giant's face. All he saw was a primal savage rage. It seemed prudent to stay out of Surk's reach so Foster kept moving away as he thought. No matter their size, the weak spots were still the same … the eyes, the throat, the groin, kidney … the shouting outside the ring got louder.

"We didn't pay to see him dance!" someone shouted.

"Get your ass in there," Arthur ordered.

"You first, Sir," Foster replied as he again dodged an attack. This time instead retreating after the orc ran past he turned and placing his hands on the ground as leverage he kicked both legs into his foe behind the knee causing the leg to buckle. He barely missed the hand grabbing for him as he slipped away. Surk stood up and let out a howl of anger as he charged again. "Well that didn't do much," Foster thought to himself as jumped and rolled out of the way. An orc's endurance was stronger than his, as past brawls had proved he had to end this before Surk outlasted him. As the orc turned around Foster charged instead of retreating, Surk seemed confused to see his prey running at him instead of away. As the large hand smashed down, Foster crossed his arms above his head blocking it. It still shook him to the core. He brought his boot up burying it in the orc's crotch. It was dirty but these fights were a matter of survival. To his dismay the attack didn't faze Surk who wrapped his thick fingers around Foster's neck and lifted him up so his feet hung off the floor.

Choking Foster wrapped his hands around the wrist. "Surk smash!" the crowd shouted.

The dense orc pulled Foster closer to him; as his lips curled up in a cruel smile around his chipped tusks. Letting go of the wrist Foster gored the furious eyes with his hands; this got him a howl as he was thrown aside hard. As he crashed into the cage wall the crowd outside let out hoots. His fingers were bloody. "I'm sorry," he whispered as the orc clawed at his face.

"Surk smash!" the crowd chanted.

The orc turned toward him, his left eye closed, blood smeared down his face. It was time to end this Foster thought as he held his ground, the half-blind giant charged. At the last moment he again moved out of the way. The orc crashed into the wall … the same spot Foster had been tossed into and much to everyone's shock in the barn the barrier collapsed. Foster could only watch in terror as the enraged orc turned his fury on those outside. Two men died instantly when the great hands crushed their heads. "Surk smash!" the orc said contently as he reached for another. There was a loud blast and the giant stumbled, there was a volley of gunfire and Foster watched as those outside fought for their lives until the orc finally fell to the ground. It wasn't before he killed half dozen men. Foster barely felt Percy put the shackles around his wrists.

"Stupid Gilbert," he growled pulling Foster behind him. "Get himself an orc like that, what was he thinking?"

Foster stumbled. "I think he busted some ribs," he said.

"We'll look back at the farm," Percy said putting him up on a horse. "It's about to get really ugly here."

Arthur hurried over and got onto his own horse. The ride home was grim and quiet; each jolt sent excruciating pain through him. The rain washed away the orc's blood. After they reached homestead he was pulled off the back of the horse and Percy led him over the barn door. Foster knew what was coming but that didn't make it any easier. His chains were attached to a hook and lifted above his head. As he was stretched out he screamed in pain from the broken ribs.

"That's the first time I've heard you scream," Percy said, "I like it."

Arthur appeared with a whip curled in his hand. "I told you if you won …"

"Just do it," Foster said.

The man nodded and disappeared behind him. The first blow always startled after that there was a rhythm. The welcomed darkness was pulling at him when his left shoulder exploded in pain; he let out a yell as the brand left his flesh. His arms were free and he dropped to his knees. "Yes," Percy hissed in his ear. "I like that a lot." After being pulled to his feet Arthur stepped in front of him. "I'm disappointed in you, Foster, thought you had figured things out. Guess everyone needs a reminder here and there. You're mine, body and soul. Don't you forget it! Now go let that orc whore patch you up, if this rain stops I'll expect you in the fields tomorrow."

Foster was led back to the cellar and shoved inside. Strong arms caught him and he groaned at the water he felt under foot, he was tired of being wet. More to the point he was just tired and with a sigh he let the darkness win.


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter Twenty-Eight – **_Nathaniel Conway, Age 20_

"Here try this on."

Nathaniel frowned at the frilly shirt handed to him. "I don't think so," he said. "I had clothes with me."

"There is no way you could meet your father in those old things," Belestra said. She continued to look through a large stack of clothing.

"They weren't that old," Nathaniel said, flinching as the comb working its way through his long locks caught.

"Sorry," the woman behind him said as she continued to groom him.

"I could do that myself," he said.

"If you truly belong to the Suntouched family, you best get used to having servants do it for you." Belestra said. She walked over and held up a simple blue silk shirt. "Better?" she asked. She cupped his chin and made him meet her gaze. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," he admitted. "The discomfort is still there at the pit of my stomach but I don't feel like I want to vomit."

"I'll take it," she said as she helped him slip on the shirt. "Have you had the strength to walk in the garden?"

"Yes, Ma'am," he replied. "Twice a day like the doctor ordered. It feels good to move around again, swear I've been stuck in this room for a month."

"Probably a bit longer," Belestra admitted. "You are quite the curious case for us. Getting you a Sunwell Ring seemed silly, that is only reserved for those that travel really far away. But it appears to have helped; I believe the one you were attuned to as an infant would be better but there is nothing we can do about that. Leave his hair free," she instructed the elf behind him.

"I hate it down," Nathaniel said.

"Stop that," Belestra said with a slight smile. "You don't have to automatically contradict everything everyone says to you."

"It's not that," he said. "Just used to having it up and out of my face so I can work and hunt."

"Two things you won't have to worry about for a long time," Belestra said motioning him to stand. She walked him over to a mirror so he could see himself. His long blond locks gleamed, the blue silk brought out his eyes and the simple black pants finished off the look. "Very handsome," she said.

Nathaniel rolled eyes, there was knock on the door and Halduron stuck his head in. "Master Suntouched is here," he said.

"All right," Belestra said, "we'll be right down." She turned and took both of Nathaniel's hands. "I need you to promise me something," she said. "Downstairs is man whose wife disappeared when she was returning from Dalaran, twenty years ago. He knows little of your past; he is not responsible for the situation you're in. If he ends up being your father, please for his sake and your own don't take it out on him. I don't expect you to love him, though I do pray as the years past you learn to like him. I beg that you respect him if only for the link you share with the woman that gave you life."

"Ma'am," Nathaniel said. "I've been through some hard times in my twenty years but I can honestly say these past months have been torture to me both of body and spirit. Everything I understood, loved and knew has been taken away. I'm being forced unwillingly to relearn everything." He picked up a wine bottle nearby and filled a cup to the rim. "This is me," he said. He continued to pour wine until to Belestra's alarm it overflowed. "And this is what the elves are trying to do. My cup is full Ma'am …"

"You're a Quel'dorei," Belestra said as she dropped a towel on the spill. "Our cups are never full; there is always knowledge out there to be learnt."

Nathaniel sighed and downed the wine in the glass in a couple of gulps. "All right," he said, "let's go meet my possible sire." Belestra nodded and motioned him to step out the door. "What if he isn't," he asked. "Where does that leave me?"

"A ward of Silvermoon," Belestra answered. "The other pregnancy on record; there are no living relatives to confirm if you are related or not. Both mother and father disappeared on a journey north."

The walked downstairs and found Lor'themar and Halduron were in the sitting room with a third elf, with short auburn hair. The stranger studied Nathaniel for a moment, a mix of emotions on his face. "He shares his mother's nose and chin," he said.

"That may be the case," Belestra said, "but please Master Suntouched before you get your hopes up may I have your hand?" She took the offered hand and placed it on top of Nathaniel's, he was surprised to find the fingers of the other were shaking. Belestra placed her own palm on top of the hands and closed her eyes. After a long moment she looked up, a tear fell down her cheek. "I'm happy to tell you, Master Suntouched your son has come home."

The men in the room cheered as Nathaniel was pulled into an awkward embrace by the man they judged to be his father. Remembering Belestra's words he tried his best to relax and return the hug. The man stepped back and gave Nathaniel a once over. "What do they call you?" he asked.

"Nathaniel, Sir," he said softly.

"Sir?" The elf chuckled. "Call me Father; I've waited twenty years to hear it."

Nathaniel looked over at Belestra pleading silently. She nodded her head urging him on. Looking down he sighed. "Sorry …Father," the word felt traitorous on his tongue and he wanted take it back.

"All right," Master Suntouched said a large grin on his face. "Let me take my son home, does he have anything thing to take with him?"

"He has a mare at the stables," Halduron said, "I'll have a Ranger take it to your estate later."

"A horse? Interesting, and at such a young age … how about belongings?"

"We threw out most of them," Belestra started.

"You did what?" Nathaniel shouted, "By the Light will this never end?"

Belestra stepped forward and placed a hand on his chest, he felt her magic try to soothe him. "Sh… it was just ratty clothing," she said. "Here I saved this for you." To his humiliation she offered him the teddy bear he had as a child. "It looked well loved."

"Ah yes toys," his father said. "We'll have to stop and get you some."

Nathaniel shook his head as he took the bear. "I just want to go, please."

"In a moment, Nathaniel," Belestra said patting his shoulder. "I need to speak to your father about your care."

"May I wait out in the garden?" Nathaniel asked, wanting some air.

"I'll go with him," Lor'themar said.

The two elves walked outside into a large flower garden with a small fountain in the middle. Nathaniel held his hand up to view the Sunwell Ring he was wearing; it was larger than his other, fashioned by a talented jewelry crafter to be manlier.

"I'm sorry," Lor'themar said. "I should have never taken your Sunwell Ring. I was angry, though that is no excuse."

"Why?" Nathaniel asked. "Why couldn't you just leave me where I was loved?"

"You're a Quel'dorei child," Lor'themar said. "More valuable to us than any gem, you're our legacy. To leave you with the humans would be a great injustice to you."

"You just don't get it …" Nathaniel started.

"No," Lor'themar said interrupting him. "You just don't get it, how long have you been here?"

"A month," Nathaniel replied, "at least that's what Belestra said, seems like forever."

"It's barely been moment in the life of a High Elf," he replied. "The family that raised you made you think like a human. It is up to us to reforge you into a Quel'dorei!"

"Us?" Nathaniel said, raising an eyebrow. "I thought you were free of me now."

"Figurative speaking," he replied. "I meant the people of Silvermoon."

The door behind them opened. Master Suntouched and Belestra stepped outside. His father looked so happy. It made Nathaniel honestly feel bad for not being able to return the love in the expression. "Are you ready to go home, my son?"

Nathaniel nodded his head. "But I don't think that is an option," he said quietly. That got him a sharp nudge in the side by Lor'themar. He approached Belestra and bowed. "Thank you for taking care of me these past days, Ma'am."

"Of course," Belestra said with a smile. "Enjoy your life, Nathaniel; you have it all before you."

Nodding his head at Lor'themar he said, "Thank you Master Theron for taking me under your watch."

"Stay out of trouble," the elf replied with a smirk.

Out in front of the dwelling was an open carriage, pulled by two Hawkstriders. It was probably the fanciest coach Nathaniel had ever seen. It was white with gold accents and a brilliant violet interior. The driver hopped down as they approached, opened the door and bowed.

Nathaniel glanced at Master Suntouched who motioned him to climb inside. After he took his place his father sat down beside him and the coachman climb back into his seat. As they made their way down the street Nathaniel felt conspicuous, there were no other coaches on the road. Most people walked with an occasional mounted Hawkstrider.

After a few minutes they left the busy streets and entered a more open area, there were fields of grass and trees. Nathaniel fingered the bracer around his left wrist. "Are we staying within the walls of Silvermoon?"

"Of course," his father said with a smile. "I own a vineyard and winery, a quite successful one if I do say myself." He motioned with his hand as large chateau appeared.

Comments Belestra said finally clicked and Nathaniel asked, "So you're rich?"

"We're rich," his father replied with a smile. "Though I am now wealthier than I have ever been, I would have traded everything I own for this moment."

His father reached for him and Nathaniel held himself in check letting the elf brush a hand across his cheek. "So I look like … her?"

"You do," he replied. "Her hair, nose … you got my eyes though."

The carriage pulled to a stop, letting Nathaniel escape the touch. He hopped out before the coachman could help and waited for his father to join him. The house was huge. "This would take up a whole street in Stratholme," he said.

"Stratholme?" his father replied. "You are a world traveler aren't you? I've never left the gates of Silvermoon, there hasn't been any need." He motioned for Nathaniel to follow him, as they approached the door a servant appeared and opened it for them.

"Welcome home," the doorman said. "I see it is true, welcome home young master."

Nathaniel mumbled a thank you. Inside the front door, he looked around open-mouthed. The entry way had a grand staircase and an even more magnificent chandelier hanging down from an arch ceiling.

"And this is only the front hall," his father whispered in his ear. "Priestess Belestra instructed that you should rest after we got home. Let me show you to your room."

Following him up the staircase they passed a dozen rooms before his father stopped at a door. "I had the servants do the best they could with the short time we had to prepare, it would have been heartbreaking all over again had I come home alone." The door swung open and he was motioned inside. Within he found a room fit for a prince, if the prince was ten years old. There were more toys than even Lucy would know what to do with. The bed overflowed with stuffed animals. Nathaniel stood in the door agape. The crowning touch was the oversize rocking horse in the corner. It was his size.

"By the Light," he whispered.

His father embraced him from behind. "I'll leave you to settle in," he said, "see you at dinner, my son."

Nathaniel shut the door behind him. He was relieved to find the door locked and happily did so. "Who knew hell had a giant rocking pony," he said softly.

"That isn't very kind," a voice said and he turned around startled. There was a female High Elf standing behind him.

"Sorry Ma'am," he said, "I thought I was alone … are you a servant of Master Suntouched?"

"I do work for him," she replied.

"I'm supposed to rest before dinner," he said. "Can you leave whatever you're doing, finish it later?"

She laughed at this. "I'll turn down your bed."

"No, really," Nathaniel said. "I can do it myself. Don't you have something better to do?"

"As your nanny I'm suppose …"

"Did you just say nanny?" Nathaniel asked in disbelief.

"Yes recently hired by Master Suntouched," she replied. "I had to be able to speak Common along with some other skills."

He opened the door and motioned. "Leave," he said.

She raised an eyebrow. "I don't think so, young man."

Reaching out he grabbed her by the arm. "Apologies, Ma'am, but I really need a few minutes to myself." He was stronger than her and forcefully pushed her out into the hall and slammed the door shut locking it. Grabbing a chair from a nearby dressing table he put it under the lock. Taking a deep breath he looked around the room. "This is crazy," he took a step and collided with the elf maiden that appeared in front of him.

"That was very rude, child," she said coolly.

Nathaniel looked over his shoulder at the barricaded door and back at the pissed off woman. "Fuck!"


	29. Chapter 29

**Chapter Twenty-Nine– **_Foster Conway, Age 22_

The shouting pulled him out of the embrace of slumber. He found that he had been sleeping upright, sitting on the lap of Kobug, with strong arms wrapped around him. Forcing himself to rouse he tried to assess the situation. The shouting came from Skang who was banging on the steel door above his head with a discarded stone. It was just the men in the small cell, Nignath was missing. Shifting to tell the orc that held him he was awake caused excruciating pain in his chest and he wrapped his arms around his cracked ribs moaning.

"Sorry," Kobug said. "They took Nignath away before she could properly heal you … that was two days ago, the rain hasn't stopped. We've done our best to keep you dry but the water continues rising. I wonder if they mean to drown us here."

The prison reeked. Foster didn't care to think what might be lurking in the water that covered the bottom of the cellar. They had piled the mats in the corner; the one Kobug was sitting at, holding him. It had been a noble attempt but his pants were soaked and he seemed chilled to the bone, though he had moments of feverish burning. Skang stopped his shouting and walked over squatting down in front of them. He brushed a wet finger across Foster's chapped lips. "Sorry," he said. "The water here is undrinkable because of our filth. We were managing to wet our tongues on some rain water from the door as it seeped inside but that has stopped. Hopefully that means the weather has cleared and we'll be released soon. I'm worried about Nignath."

"Thank you for your kindness," Foster said.

Just then the door above them creaked open and they were all blinded by the bright light showering down. Foster held up a hand to shield his eyes.

"You know," Percy said from where he stood above them. "Out of all the things I thought the orcs might be doing to you the past two days, fucking never crossed my mind."

Foster was confused by the comment then he realized the two orcs he shared the prison with were naked. Skang reached up to where their pants had been rolled up and stored out of the water. He winked at Foster as he tossed Kobug one of the bundles. The older orc caught it and stood, carefully setting Foster down as he did. His legs refused to support him and he crumbled into the foul smelling water. "You took woman," Skang said.

"And you couldn't go two days without some popping," the cruel man laughed. "By the Light this hellhole stinks. I was supposed to feed you, not doing that until you clean this pit out."

"Zugzug," Kobug said picking Foster up and tossing him over his broad shoulder. It took everything he had not to scream. One handed he was carried out of the cellar and placed on the muddy ground. "Filth all out," the orc said,

"Cute green-skin, you can grab buckets from barn to aid in cleaning."

As the two orcs shuffled off, Percy bent down and rolled Foster over onto his back. "You've looked better," he said. "You going to live?"

"Trying to," Foster said. "Can Nignath mend me yet? Where is she?"

"Orcs weren't the only ones getting restless," Percy said with an evil grin. "She'll be out to tend to you after she finishes with her morning chores." He spit, some of it splattered Foster on the cheek. "Guessin' you won't be any good for a couple of days." He walked off mumbling to himself about orc whores.

Foster was still lying where he'd been placed when the orcs returned with buckets and mops. Kobug knelt down beside him. "Your leggings are keeping you chilled," he said. "We found a worn blanket. I'm going to remove your leathers and wrap you in it, okay?"

"Dabu," Foster said, his teeth chattering uncontrollably. Soon he was wrapped up in a warm blanket and tucked away under the tarp that had kept the ground mostly dry.

"Rest, I'll just tell them I like my whores healthy" Kobug said as he returned to the cellar to help Skang clean.

"How in the hell did I end up here," Foster thought as he pulled the blanket closer. "I was supposed to propose to Beth, settle down, have kids … help Pa and Nathaniel harvest the fields … please be safe Baby Brother."

He awoke from a dream of being in Bethany's embrace, to find himself being held in another's arms. Nignath's large bare emerald breasts were pressed against him. His cheeks grew red and then even brighter when he realized he was naked in her arms.

"Nignath?" he stuttered.

"Throm'ka, Foster," she said. "This is going to be cold, I'm sorry." He felt the chilly water touch his bare feet first and then she slowly lowered him into the river she stood in.

"I'm watching you, whore … both of you," Percy shouted.

Looking over Foster saw Percy and Arthur's son, Jasper, standing on the riverbank. Kobug and Skang kneeling before them in chains, a shotgun pointed at their backs. "What are you doing?" Foster asked as the orc knelt so he floated in the water before her.

"Your wounds are too severe for me to mend on my own; I need to call upon the spirits to aid me. The river will enhance my healing." She began to chant in her birth tongue and the water around Foster started to swirl, slowly at first then at a greater speed. At the same time it grew warmer and drew him down. "Don't fight it," Nignath whispered as the water flowed over his face. It felt so loving; it was easy to surrender to the sensation. Above him he saw a gorgeous woman; her body seemed to be made out of the river itself. Her hands caressed his battered body.

"So beautiful," he whispered, "I want to stay …"

"There are others that need you," the woman said in voice that reminded him of chiming bells.

"I don't want …"

"Brother!"

At Nathaniel's shout he sat up gasping for air. The woman had disappeared; Nignath was holding him as he choked up the water he'd swallowed. Afterwards she helped him walk to the shore. There he found his leggings clean and dry and slipped them on. He watched as Nignath put on her own tattered dress.

"Feel like my head is full of cotton," he said.

"How's the ribs," Jasper asked as he walked forward with a pair of manacles.

Foster stretched his arms up and to his great relief there was no stabbing pain. "They seem fine," he said. Just then his head started to spin, and he quickly sat down.

"He's still very weak," Nignath said. "The healing has taken a lot out of both of us, but your prize bull will be ready again soon if you let him rest."

"Don't tell me how to treat my property, whore," Jasper hissed.

Foster struggled to his feet. "I'll be okay, Sir," he said trying to draw attention away from Nignath. "Just need to catch my breath."

"Shackle him to his lovers," Jasper ordered, "they can carry him if he falls."

Foster spent the day chained under the tarp, with Nignath tending to him. By the time Kobug and Skang joined them from the fields he was able to sit up on his own. After an evening meal of fried corn mush they were put back in the cellar. Their mats had been a lost so there was now a layer of straw on the ground, to sleep on. The blanket he had been wrapped up in earlier was there along with a second one that looked even more worn.

"Mr. Burton decided your orcs can keep you warm from now on," Percy said as he slammed the heavy door down.

Taking one of the blankets he wrapped it around Nignath's shoulders. As he went to lie down in his customary corner, Kobug spoke, "The dung-eater is right," he said, "We can keep one another warm, sleep closer to us, Brother."

"Brother?" Foster said.

"Dabu," Skang said motioning him over.

Soon he found himself squeezed between Kobug and Nignath with the two blankets shared by all. The orcs seemed to fall asleep quickly, it took Foster longer. They called him brother, he now felt honored-bound that when he did escape they all would.


	30. Chapter 30

**Chapter Thirty – **_Nathaniel Conway, Age 20_

He listened to the creaking of the rocking chair. It reminded him of home, the same sound used to soothe him to sleep. Tonight it was a grating reminder that his keeper was still close. Laying with his back to Nanny Deni, he continued to pretend to be asleep. Was she going to stay there all night? He curled his hands into fists, the knuckles on both bruised from the frequent swats from the dowel she carried. Seemed she was a firm believer in, "spare the rod and spoil the child." He had felt the stinging bite after his unsuccessful attempt to rid her of his room. Humiliated and angry he could do nothing but stand there and take the childish punishment. His pa would have ripped him a new one had he raised his hand to a woman.

Afterwards he endured her undressing and tucking him into bed. In his frustration he had shoved all the stupid animals off it which got him dragged back out until all the toys were picked up and placed away properly. After a brief nap he joined his father for a mid-day meal. It had been awkward and Nathaniel knew it was his fault. And it quickly went downhill after his father brought up his name and suggested they change it to something more elfin, so not to stand out.

"It was my grandfather's name," Nathaniel had argued.

Which got him a very cool; "it was not" after whispering an apology Nathaniel tried to focus on the food in front of him. After a few more bites he pushed the plate aside and started to rise. A quick whack on the back of his hand stopped him and he glared over at the woman sitting beside him.

"I'm not deaf, if I have done something wrong you could speak to me" he said. "Nor am I hungry, I want to go lay down."

"Finish your plate," she said, "then ask your father's permission to leave the table."

Nathaniel stared at her a good long minute trying to justify her tone and commands. "I said I'm not hungry." He jerked his hand back that time and the rod hit the edge of the table with a loud smack.

"Do not remove your hand," she said, "put it back."

Nathaniel's stomach twisted and he looked over at his father who was watching the exchange. "She's your nanny," he said, "obey her. I respect her decisions when it comes to raising you."

"I don't need raised," Nathaniel said exasperated, "I already am. By the Light … I don't understand. My pa never raised his hand to me …" He instantly regretted his words as his father's eyes darkened.

"Put your hand down on the table, _my_ son," he said.

Nathaniel's stomach threatened to rid itself of the little food had eaten. He eyed the open door across the way. "I'll have your feet frozen to the ground before you take two steps," Deni said. "Then take you over my knee."

"I'm taller and stronger than you are," Nathaniel hissed, "I'd like to see you try."

A hand grabbed his wrist and placed it on the table. "And I'm stronger and faster than you are," a new voice whispered in his ear.

"Thank you, Adare," his father said, nodding to the man that held Nathaniel's hand down.

Deni got one hit on his knuckles before Nathaniel reacted the way he'd been trained to do. Shoving his chair back he knocked Adare off balance. Grabbing the hand that held his wrist he stood twisting. Using his forward movement he pulled the other over his shoulder and threw him down on the table.

Ignoring the shouts, he walked toward the open door. True to her word, he only took a couple of steps before ice sprung from the floor and wrapped around his ankles. "By the Sunwell," Deni said as she pushed herself away from the table, "what did those humans teach you?"

"More than any of your stupid libraries will ever teach me," Nathaniel shot back. By now the elf named Adare had recovered and was approaching.

"Enough!" His father shouted. "Free my son, Nanny Deni. I will not have his first day here filled with discipline."

"Sir," Adare said, "you go soft on him now and he'll walk all over you. He's in desperate need of an attitude adjustment."

"It may very well come to that, Adare," his father said. "But not today, not now… you're excused, my son."

The ice around his ankles melted and he was allowed to flee. Once again after he had locked his door, Deni appeared in front of him. She had him spend the rest of the afternoon and evening over books written in a language he didn't understand. His inabilities to read were met with more blows across the knuckles until in frustration he stopped even trying. After a quiet dinner with his father he was told it was bedtime and prepped for sleeping. What used to be strip off his clothes and collapse into his bed, now became a long winded routine of bathing, brushing and dressing in a formal sleep gown that felt very impractical.

After Deni had tucked him in for the night his father had appeared and asked if wanted a story read. Nathaniel had turned his back on him and mumbled he was tired. There was a long moment of silence and then a soft touch on his head before his father left.

That had been awhile ago now and yet the chair creaked. It continued to do so until the clock struck eleven. Only then did he hear her approach, adjust his blankets, and afterwards thankfully leave the room. He gave it another full hour before he slipped out of the bed. It took a moment to find where they had put his clothing but soon he was dressed in a simple shirt and leggings. Slipping on his boots he crept over to the window and looked outside. He was on the second floor, but there was a tree that grew right outside. It didn't take much for him to open the window and leap into the lofty branches.

Dropping lightly to the ground Nathaniel eyed the golden bracer on his wrist. "Maybe he was lying," he thought as he started to run, "only one way to find out." The great wall of Silvermoon was easy to see even in the dark, it seemed to glow. It took him a bit longer to find an opening in the barrier. Pulling the cloak over his face he walked toward the guarded exit. The armored elves paid him no heed as he moved past them. He had taken a couple steps out of the exit when he remembered Rook, as he turned to go back he found himself falling. The cold water caused him to gasp.

"Lor'themar owes me a drink," Halduron said from where he was sitting on a bench near the fountain. "Told him you wouldn't even make it a night, come here let's get you dried off and back to your father." The elf stood up and in his hand was a plush towel.

The walk back to the estate was a quiet one. As they approached Nathaniel's stomach knotted. "I can go on from here," he said.

"I don't think so," Halduron said motioning him on.

"Please, sir," Nathaniel said, he wasn't beyond begging now. "They favor the rod and I promised Belestra I would be restraint … if they strike me again I don't think …"

"If you had just behaved you wouldn't be in this position to start with," Halduron said as he kept a firm grip on Nathaniel's arm and knocked.

The elf named Adare opened the door. He looked between the two elves; Nathaniel was still wet from his tumble in the fountain. "Thank you, Master Brightwing," he said as he motioned Nathaniel to step inside. Halduron said his goodnights and the door was closed.

Afterwards Adare stared at Nathaniel as he stood shivering in the front hall. "Your father is going to be disappointed," he said finally. "Take off your wet things and leave them at the door, I'll go wake Deni, she'll meet you in your room."

Knowing arguing was useless, he nodded. "Yes, Sir." Quickly stripping off his wet outer clothes he hurried upstairs, maybe he'd get to bed before she … she was waiting in his room when he hurried in. A simple robe pulled over her gown. Nathaniel shut the door behind him and looked down, waiting.

"Come here," she said.

Glancing up he noticed she had sat down on a stool. He moved closer and held out his hands waiting. The door behind him opened and he looked over to see Adare enter. Looking back at Deni he noticed a large wooden paddle in her lap. Adare moved purposely over to him and quickly grabbed Nathaniel behind the neck at the same time pressing a foot behind his knee causing him to bend over. Soon he was positioned over Deni's lap. Too ashamed to struggle he let Adare hold him in place as the paddle fell. By the tenth blow his cheeks were wet with tears of shame, by the twentieth he was pleading, by the thirtieth he was fighting to hold back sobs not of pain but from the humiliation of being in the position he swore he'd never be again. By the fortieth he lost that battle. The blows finally stopped at fifty and he was jerked to his feet.

"I've broken many proud cockatrices," Adare said, "You don't stand a chance, child."

"Thank you for your help, Adare," Deni said, "I'll get him back into bed now."

She heated a basin of water with a spell cast and dipped a washcloth into it. She used the warm cloth to wash away his tears. "We don't like punishing you any more than you do," she said. "We only do it so you learn the correct way to behave."

"Ma'am," Nathaniel said, "I know how to behave; it's you crazy elves that are clueless." He gently pushed her hand away and curled up on the bed, pulling up the blanket. This time the soft creaking of the rocking chair kept up long after he fell asleep.


	31. Chapter 31

**Chapter Thirty-One – **_Foster Conway, Age 22_

His growing bond with his orc companions was getting harder to hide. So they changed tactics and played on Percy's misinterpretation. Foster pretended to be submissive around the male orcs, which infuriated Arthur and disgusted Percy. His owner's anger was short lived though once he figured out he hadn't lost his best fighter. Foster had yet to lose a battle in the cage matches he was subjected too.

"That's our Foster for you," Arthur said on their way home from one of the bouts. "Knows when to bend over and submit and when to stand up and roar." Foster remained quiet nursing his sore shoulder. It had been dislocated, Jasper had forced it back in place but bruising had already started.

"That ogre almost had you," Jasper said, offering him an ice pack.

"I've never seen such a creature," Foster said. "Two heads? How is that even possible? I will not be excited to get into a cage with that monster again."

"Then you should have killed it when you had a chance," Arthur said. "Your tendency for mercy is going to get you killed one of these days."

"I was taught to respect all living things," Foster said. "They don't want to be in that pit anymore than I do." Any replies were cut short by the approaching drumming of horses' hooves. At Jasper's command Foster laid down and let a blanket be thrown over him. Through the wool he listened as the horses pulled alongside the wagon.

"Halt in the name of Stromgarde!" A man commanded.

Arthur pulled up the reins. "Evening Captain," he said. "Is there something amiss? We are just returning from getting supplies."

"A little late for that isn't it?" A soldier asked.

"We're harvesting," Arthur replied, "our daylight hours are better spent than on the road."

"So you haven't been to the Hamilton's this evening?"

That was exactly where they had been. "Hamilton … those are the folks to the east a bit ain't they? Nope can't say we've been there …" Arthur lied.

"Did something happen?" Jasper asked as he leaned on the blanket hiding Foster.

"Rumor is that they are housing an ogre for illegal duels …" the captain started.

"An ogre!" Jasper shouted. "Whoo-wee, I ain't never seen an ogre before … though I heard talk of them gathering. Are we in any danger?"

"Not while you're under the protection of Stromgarde," the soldier replied.

Foster wondered what would happen if he sat up. He was being held against his will as a citizen of Lordaeron. But the two brands he now bore may have more power than his voice and there were the orcs, no human would help him free them. So he stayed where he was, biting his lip as Jasper pressed down on his sore shoulder. The soldiers rode off after a few more words, a short time later the blanket was lifted and he was allowed to sit up. He had never been told the duels he participated in were illegal, he assumed by the sheer number of spectators everyone knew about them.

They arrived at the homestead and Foster hopped down, favoring his shoulder. He'd already had dinner so he walked over to the cellar door and waited. "Eager for your green cock, huh?" Jasper laughed as he indicated for Foster to open the steel door.

"Eager to sleep," Foster said as he worked the locking bar, "the wheat is ready to be threshed and winnowed tomorrow."

"So obedient," Jasper said motioning him to jump down. "You were the best fifty gold we ever spent."

Foster ducked as the door slammed shut and into the waiting arms of his orc family. Nignath's touch took away the throbbing pain. Kobug offered him a canteen of warm water, which he drank thirstily.

"How did it go?" Skang asked, taking the canteen and hiding it behind some rocks.

"I fought an ogre," Foster replied. "I've never seen such a brute. It had two heads that seemed independent from each other. They were constantly bickering which gave me the edge. I fear if they force me to fight another I won't walk away from it. I'm glad out of the two of us, this is my lot. My baby brother would have never survived."

"If he is anything like you," Nignath said, "he would have endured, but I too am happy that he does not share this fate. This life will eventually bend the strongest will."

"Our spirits may be bent, Sister," Foster said, "but they are far from broken."

"Lok'tar!" The three of them said in unison.

Foster smiled. "Let us get some rest, I'm tired." He took his customary place between Kobug and Nignath and fell into a dreamless slumber.

Morning came too early, and blurry eyed Foster stumbled out of the cellar the next morning and knelt down at the pump. As Kobug worked the handle, Foster caught the cool water in his hands and after taking a drink splashed the rest over his face. As Nignath headed to the house to start on breakfast the men had their ankles shackled together.

Foster led them over to where the wheat had been had been stored to cure. Taking his thumbnail he pressed down on a kernel, it was hard and he was unable to dent it. "It's ready," he told Percy standing nearby.

"Then get to it," the man said.

Instructing the orcs to gather up bundles of wheat they shuffled outside. Taking an old bed sheet they had been given for this purpose, Foster laid it out flat. Careful not to step on the sheet or drag an orc onto it he placed a bundle of wheat near the center. Gathering the corners of the cloth, he wrapped it loosely around the wheat stalks. Then he tied a corner to make a bag over the seed heads. Using both of his hands to pound it against the ground, he knocked loose the kernels from the plant. After doing that several minutes he untied the sheet and carefully spread it out. Removing the stalks he was left with wheat kernels on the sheet. At this point the orcs moved in to help, each grabbing a corner with Foster ending up with two. They carefully made the wheat kernels bounce on the sheet by moving it up and down. They continued winnowing until nothing was left on the cloth but the wheat kernels. The chaff was light and blown away by the wind. Afterwards they gathered up the wheat and put it in a nearby bucket.

"One down," Foster said as he reached for the next bundle, "only a hundred more to go."

They were on their tenth when Percy allowed them to take a short break for breakfast. They were served bowls of watered down oatmeal and weak ale.

After Nignath collected their dishes and headed to the house, the men went back to threshing and winnowing. They took turns pounding the wheat into the ground. It was nearing noonday meal when the sound of an approaching wagon reached their ears. The legitimacy of his bounds was once again questioned when Percy ushered the three of them out of sight behind the barn. Once there he unshackled Foster from the others and led him to the cellar, where he was motioned to get inside. Once the door was locked Foster was left alone in the silence.

The time dragged on with only his growling stomach for company. The canteen they kept stashed away had a swallow left which he drank. The silence was broken by the sound of shouting and then gun fire. Foster leapt up and stared helplessly at the door. What had happened would crying out help or hamper? The silence returned and Foster paced the tiny cell, waiting. After an eternity the door opened and he looked up expectantly. The dark sky told him hours had passed. Percy motioned for him to come out. The older man had a worried look about him. Foster was led over to the tarp and secured underneath it. He looked around. "Where are the orcs?" he asked.

"The whore is in the kitchen getting your dinner," Percy replied.

"The others?" Foster asked unable to hide his concern.

"Already missing your cocks, eh?" Percy said.

"The orcs males were returned to the internment camp to the East where they escaped from," Arthur said as he approached. The older man was livid. "Because some IDIOT thought it would be okay to leave the orcs out to finish the wheat. By the Light what were you thinking? I couldn't tell those Stromgarde soldiers they were mine; they would have wanted to see the paperwork I don't own. I can't believe this … I'm down two hands in the middle of harvest season. It will be your back out there breaking along side his, Percy!"

"Sorry, Sir," Percy said meekly. "You could let the orc whore work the fields, she has a strong back."

"Cooking takes a woman's touch," Arthur growled. "The green wench can cook, no she stays where she is."

"Internment camp …" Foster said, "will they be treated fairly?"

Arthur chuckled. "It will make here look like a holiday."

Foster sighed. The men walked away still bickering when Nignath appeared, she knelt down in front of him with a bowl of porridge. "I put some pork in it," she said. "They were too busy to notice." Foster saw her emerald cheeks were damp with tears and reached up to brush them away.

"I'm so sorry." He said. "I heard shots, were they okay?"

"Skang was injured in the shoulder but it didn't look to be life draining," she said. "Kobug knows some mending; they will be okay … won't they?"

"They are strong," Foster said, "they will be … and you will see them again."

"In this life or my next?" she asked sadly.

"This one," Foster said reaching across and taking her hand. "I swear to you."


	32. Chapter 32

**Chapter Thirty-Two – **_Nahoan Suntouched, Age 20_

"You should go play with the other children, Nahoan."

Nahoan looked over at Deni, his new name still felt strange to him. But when his father had brought it up again, he had gladly accepted it. He wanted Nathaniel Conway to be a treasured memory that the High Elves could not take away from him.

"The teachers and trainers will want to see how you interact with your peers," Deni said.

He looked out across the room where dozens of elves were chatting and playing with various toys. Two boys broke out into a loud argument when one took a paint brush the other wasn't finished with. The part that baffled Nahoan was all the students were his height but acted more like they were eight or younger. Deni pushed him in the middle of the back and he glanced over at her and then to the door where Adare stood, a dark look on his face.

The stable master and now baby-sitter of Nahoan had quickly grown in his father's eyes as a valuable asset, to his 'strong-headed' son. Sighing Nahoan moved forward and through the throng of oversized children. He found a quiet corner and knelt down. There was a wooden toy there, similar to one he had when he was a lot younger. There were various wooden pegs of different shapes you used a hammer to push them into place. With a smirk he picked up one of the square pegs and tried to work into a circle cut out.

A shadow came over him and watched for a long moment. A female asked something in Thalassian, Nahoan ignored it. She tried again and Deni answered across the room.

"Ah, Suntouched child," the woman said switching to Common. "Forgive me. I was asking what you are doing."

"Trying to fit a square peg into a round hole," he replied, as he turned the peg.

"And do you think it will work?" the woman asked.

"Everyone else seems to think it will," Nahoan replied. "If I can figure it out, maybe I'll know where my place is."

"Look at me, child."

Nahoan looked up and was surprised to find the eyes of Sylvanas Windrunner, the Ranger-General of Silvermoon looking down at him.

"Do you know why you are here?" she asked.

"Aptitude test for the Academy," he replied.

"Yes, that's right," Sylvanas replied. "Though the test itself is tomorrow, today is a time to get to know the candidates, and then there is a formal ball tonight before the testing tomorrow. Your father is holding the ball in honor of your return to us."

Nahoan nodded and went back to his game; a girl approached and flopped down beside him. Without asking she took the toy away. "That isn't how it's done, idiot."

"That's what I've been trying to tell them," Nahoan said as he stood. He bowed slightly at Sylvanas, "see you tonight, my lady."

She grabbed his hand, halting his planned retreat. "These are bowstring calluses, you hunt?"

"Not since they revoked my adulthood," Nahoan said bitterly.

A slender eyebrow rose. "Come with me," she ordered. She led him out a back door and he smiled at the cries of alarm that came from his keepers when they were turned away from following. She took the reins of cockatrice tethered outside and swung up in the saddle. Offering him her arm, he took it and mounted behind her. She led them through the streets and approached one of the gates. "My lady," Nahoan said, "I'm sorry I cannot."

"I am the Ranger-General of Silvermoon," she said, "I'll take responsibility for you."

"That's not the problem," he started as she rode out of the gate. He sighed as he landed with a splash. "Wonderful," he sighed, climbing out of the fountain. Taking off the annoying robe he had been forced to wear he wrung it out. He was now dressed in leggings and boots. He took a moment to dump the water from his boots before he started walking down the street. Either the Ranger-General would find him or the nanny from hell, there wasn't really any place for him to go.

Nahoan came upon some rangers practicing their archery on targets. He sat down on a nearby bench and watched. He saw a Fletcher nearby selling her wears along with bows. He had coin in his pocket from his father so he walked over to her. Running his hands down the bows she had for sale he picked out a finely crafted longbow. Pulling back on the string he liked the draw weight. "How much?" he asked.

"I'd need to see your ranger certificate," the woman said with a smile.

"Ranger certificate?" Nathaniel said confused, "I just want to shoot some targets."

"I'm sorry," she replied, "we're not allowed to sell them to just anyone especially children. I do have a toy bow and arrow set here …"

"Then sell me the bow," Sylvanas said as she appeared.

Nahoan held up his golden bracer and shrugged. "Sorry," he said, "Lor'themar keeps me on a short leash."

"I see," she replied as she paid the bowyer. "Come on."

Following her to the targets she handed him the bow and took an arrow from her quiver. Nocking it he brought the bow up and let it go, it flew true and hit the dead center of the target. She handed him another arrow and pointed to a target further out, he let it fly with the same result. She went through various targets; he was only off center twice. By the time he finished a small crowd had gathered to watch him.

"Interesting," Sylvanas said lost in thought.

"Nahoan!"

Sighing he turned to face Deni as she raced forward. "What in the Sunwell are you doing? That is not something a young child should be using!"

Sylvanas answered for him. "He has better aim than most of my veterans. I was just testing him, for the examination tomorrow."

"He will not be testing to join the Farstriders," Deni said taking his hand. "There is no reason for a Suntouched to do such petty work."

Nahoan offered the bow back to Sylvanas who shook her head. Shouldering it he let Deni lead him back home, Adare fell in step behind him. "Put your robe on," he ordered, "you look like a vagabond."

"It's wet," Nahoan said.

"And how did it get wet?" Adare asked.

"The Ranger-General tried to take me outside the city limits," he replied. "You try telling that woman no."

"Don't speak to an elder with such tongue," Deni said harshly.

Nahoan dipped his head. "Sorry," he said.

A cloak was draped over his shoulders and he pulled it closed. "You could have tried a bit harder today," Deni said with a loud sigh. "Everyone was so curious. And you were completely unapproachable."

"Lady Sylvanas didn't seem to have an issue," Nahoan said.

"Anu belore dela'na, Nahoan!"

The shout saved him from Deni's rebuttal. Halduron Brightwing approached the trio. Nahoan replied back to the greeting in Common. "The sun does guide us, Master Brightwing."

"Ah," Halduron said, "you have picked up some Thalassian, very good!"

"A little bit," Nahoan admitted, "Nanny Deni has been working extra hard with me to learn formal greetings and farewells before the ball tonight. I have the scars to prove it."

The briefest look of pity crossed the other's face. "May I walk with your ward?" he asked Deni.

"Certainly," Deni said, as she continued to keep pace with them.

"Alone," Halduron said. "We'll stay within eyesight if that will relieve any fears."

"Of course," Deni said coolly as she fell back to stand with Adare.

Halduron led Nahoan to a bench nearby and sat down; he motioned for the younger man to do the same. "How can private can this be," Nahoan sighed. "They can hear every word we say."

"That would be rude to listen in," Halduron said, "They should respect my request. What are they saying?"

Nahoan tried to listen in on the conversation but they were speaking in rapid Thalassian and he couldn't follow it. "They are speaking too fast," he said. "I can't follow it …"

That earned him a light punch in the arm. "I just said it was rude to listen to others conversation …"

"You just asked me too," Nahoan said confused and slightly angry.

"Do you do that often?" Halduron asked. "Listen to others' conversations?"

"Sometimes it's the only way to understand what you people want," Nahoan said. "It seems I'm supposed to have some mindreading ability I lack to figure it out when they speak to me directly."

"You people?" Halduron lifted an eyebrow. "You are one of us …"

"Not by a long shot," Nahoan said. "There is no way I could be part of a society that is so cold and unfeeling. I am here under protest."

"Is that why the bracer's powers went off again?" Halduron said, his voice suddenly sounded very tired. "Master Theron wanted me to check on you."

"That was not my fault," Nahoan said. "Lady Sylvanas led me out of the gate before I could explain my circumstances."

"Lady Sylvanas?" Halduron asked rising an eyebrow. "Very curious, she's not one to spend time with children."

"Then she hasn't broken that trend," Nahoan replied. "My turn if I may ask a question, something that has been vexing me since my arrival."

"Certainly," Halduron said, "if it's within my knowledge."

"I know this is going to sound terribly human," Nahoan said, "but how do you tell ages of the Quel'dorei? You all look the same to me, unless they are very young or very old. Yet at a glance from a complete stranger and I am deemed a child. So I assume it must be in my appearance."

Halduron laughed, "You haven't lost your baby fat yet. It's very obvious."

"Excuse me," Deni said approaching, "I'm sorry to interrupt, but Nahoan has a busy night ahead and I would like for him to get a nap in beforehand. He seems to be less cranky then."

"Just shoot me," Nahoan said quietly as he stood. He bowed slightly at Halduron. "You can assure Master Theron his trinkets are working as intended. See you this evening, sir, Al diel shala."

"Shorel'aran, Nahoan," Halduron said.


	33. Chapter 33

**Chapter Thirty-Three – **_Foster Conway, Age 22_

The week after Kobug and Skang were taken away was a difficult one for Foster, as the only hand he was worked hard. He could thresh the wheat by himself but to winnow he had to ask Percy to hold the other end of the sheet. The man grew impatient at times and the cloth would fly too high, losing both kernels and chaff. He made the mistake of cursing under his breath after one such incident and was rewarded with a harsh whipping. One that Arthur walked in on. When he demanded to know the reason Foster was quick to speak up.

"I need his help winnowing," he said, "and Mr. Percy tosses the sheet like a child would. You're losing wheat faster than we're collecting it. I need real help if I am to finish this in a timely fashion."

"You're asking me to find another slave …"

"You could just pay someone to do the work," Foster said, exasperated. He was rewarded by a backhand, and it took every bit of his resolve to accept it passively.

"Seems someone got some piss in his oats this morning," Arthur said. "Chain him up, Percy."

"Gladly," Percy said as he dragged Foster off and fastened him to the hook in the barn. Foster could only watch as Nignath was brought in, her hands in manacles. Usually it was just her ankles so she could work in the kitchen. Her chains were placed on an identical hook and lifted up so she hung directly in front of him.

"She didn't do anything," Foster said alarmed.

"See," Arthur said, "I figured something out. The two of you have been awful close these past few says since losing the others." He walked behind Nignath and there was a ripping sound, her dress fell down, pooling at her feet. "She does have nice tits," he said as he reached around and cupped a breast in each hand. His fingers tightened and he squeezed. Nignath let out a howl and Foster shouted.

"Be calm, Brother," Nignath cried in orc. "They have done this before, many times, do not let them use me to hurt you."

"Seems I was right," Arthur said as he walked around swatting Nignath hard on the ass. "I could beat you until you didn't have the strength to crawl and it would do nothing to your spirit. No to get to you we have to hurt those you care about. That's how you ended up in this situation isn't it? The bandits said something about a brother. Imagine what I could make you do if it was your brother here instead of this green whore. But I have a feeling she'll do just fine." He nodded over to where Percy stood by with a whip in his hand. "She's all yours," he said.

"I'll be fine, Brother!" Nignath said in orcish. "Don't let them break you, bend … just like I will."

Foster closed his eyes as the whip fell. "Open those eyes," Arthur ordered. "Every time you shut them I'll add another ten strikes"

He focused on Nignath, she met his gaze. Foster counted forty lashes before Percy stopped. "If I go much longer she won't be fit to make dinner," he said, "then we'll be stuck with Jasper's cooking."

"What about it, Foster?" Arthur said from where he watched. "Lesson learned?"

"Yes, sir," Foster said.

They took Nignath off the chains first and she crumbled to the ground. He was prevented from going to help her and was led back out where the wheat waited. Foster watched as Nignath tried to put on her tattered dress. Arthur tugged it away and threw it down. "You can do your chores naked," he said with an evil grin. "Just keep those tits out of the soup." As she shuffled off toward the kitchen, Foster could only look in dismay at the bloody slashes across her back and buttocks.

"Mm," Percy said, "I'm going to get me a piece of that tonight, but don't worry there will be plenty left for you."

Foster knew if the chance presented itself he'd have no qualms killing that man. But for now there was nothing he could do but pick up the wheat and start threshing it. When it came to winnowing he figured out a way to hold the two corners of the far side of the sheet down with stones so he could do it solo. It was still painstakingly slow work and even with him skipping his midday meal, he had only a half dozen bags of wheat at the end of the day to show for it.

That evening dinner was a bowl of cold dog food and an alchemy laced drink. Foster knew he was going out again. As Nignath collected his dish, she caressed his cheek. "Come back to me, Brother, don't leave me here alone" she said.

"Dabu," Foster replied. He watched her walk back into the kitchen, she had not been permitted to dress yet but he could see she had started to mend herself. The lashes from earlier had scabbed over and some were already fading. The sun had long since set before the men of the house emerged. There was some argument about who was staying with Nignath; Foster's blood ran cold when it was Percy staying behind. Jasper walked over to him and unchained him from his stake. "Come on," he said, "we're headed to Gilbert's he wants a rematch."

"His orc was killed," Foster said as he was led over to the wagon.

"Guess he found something better," Jasper said with a wicked grin. "Nothing to worry about though, you eat orcs for breakfast … at least that is what Percy says." The man laughed at his perverted joke and hopped in the front seat with his father.

Foster closed his eyes and tried to calm himself. Whatever was thrown at him tonight be it orc or ogre, he had to survive and return to Nignath. He paused, these past few months his thoughts had always been to return home … now his front most concern was the orc maiden left behind in chains. He pondered on that for the rest of the trip until they pulled up in front of the Gilbert's farm. There was a loud and boisterous crowd already shouting from within.

The man named Gilbert saw them approach and walked over. "Ah good," he said, "You showed." He eyed Foster, "best make your peace, boy, tonight you're going to meet your maker." There was a gleam in his eyes that made Foster uneasy.

"Just tell us when you're ready," Arthur said.

"Oh, we're ready now," Gilbert said, "we've just been feeding it some lesser orcs to keep it happy."

"Feeding?" Jasper said, confused. "These fights are supposed to be man to man … we're not putting our prized fighter in with some sort of beast."

"Oh no worries," Gilbert said with a smirk. "I think you'll like this one … it's mostly a man. And to make it worth your time, I'll double our standard bet."

"Sounds good," Arthur said. "Let's go, Foster."

They entered the barn and the first thing to reach Foster was the smell of blood … death. The frenzied crowd parted and within a blood splattered cage he saw the head of an orc bounce off the wall.

"What the hell is that?" Jasper gasped.

In the pen was a creature, the likes which Foster had never seen before. The lower half of the body looked like a snake; it slithered across the cage floor as it tore the carcass it held in its talon like hands to pieces. The upper half of the body was thick and muscular and the face … it looked more like a dragon than a man. The entire body was covered with brilliant blue glistening scales. Along his head and arms were growths that looked like fins. Foster stopped and shook his head. "That ain't human," he said. "You put me in there and you'll be harvesting your crops yourself."

Arthur seemed lost in thought for a moment. "I assume that you've reinforced your cage since last time. That thing getting loose …"

"Yeah," Gilbert said. "That beast isn't going anywhere. Though you'll have to be quick tossing your boy in there, he moves fast for his size."

"It's an oversized fish out of water," Jasper said with a smirk. "How hard can it be?"

Foster counted at least three bodies lying in the pen with the beast. His chain became taut as Arthur pulled him closer. "Sir!" he shouted.

"Foster," Arthur said, "I can beat you first and put you in this cage or you can walk in there under your own power. Both ways end with you in the same place; it's up to you how beaten you are before the match even starts."

"At least give me a weapon," Foster said.

"These are unarmed battles," Gilbert pointed out.

"That creature has talons as sharp as knives and scales thicker than most armor," Foster counter, "give me a fair shot of getting out alive."

"Those orcs barely lasted ten seconds," one of the onlookers said, "I say give him his choice of weapons … at least make it worth my time coming here tonight." His sentiment was echoed by those around him.

"Fine," Gilbert said with a shrug. "If you brought a weapon with you, you may give it to him but no fair getting aid from anyone."

Arthur and Jasper spoke quietly to each other and then the younger one unstrapped a large knife he had sheathed to his side. "You go into the cage first and then I'll toss the blade in," he said. "It's the best we have, do try to live. I'm sure your orc whore is screaming your name right now as Percy takes her."

Foster's rage built but he kept himself focused. As he was walked toward the cage he looked over at Gilbert. "Do you at least know what it is?"

"It was caught off the coast," he replied. "Damn near killed an entire platoon of soldiers before being subdued it is called Naga." So it was a water creature of sorts, perhaps it was weaker on land.

The beast called Naga slithered to the back of the cage and folded its arms. It seemed to be waiting for him. So perhaps it's not as ignorant as those around them believed. Arthur went to remove Foster's manacles before opening the door, it was usually done afterwards but Gilbert seemed to think the beast would strike quickly. "Don't try anything," the older man hissed. "There are fifty armed men around you, who would be more than willing to put a bullet in you than miss out on the chance of making some extra gold." Arthur nodded at Jasper who unlatched the door and Foster was shoved inside. The knife was tossed in and the door quickly latched.

The entire time the naga stood off to the side, his massive tail twitching. "Arm yourself, human," it finally hissed. The clear speech made the people outside gasp.

Foster grabbed the blade. It felt solid in his grip, he wondered if it was sharp enough to cut through the scale armor of the other.

The naga bent down and picked up one of the severed orc heads by its ponytail. "Why are you in this cage, human?" it asked. "What did you do to turn your own kind against you?" Before he could answer the creature went on. "Think I will kill you slowly," that got encouraging yells from outside. "Until you are begging me to kill you and then I'll cut out your tongue so you cannot plead and continue." All Foster saw was a blue blur but he still managed to move out of the way and avoid most of the attack. The razor sharp talons left three bloody streaks down his back. The tail whipped around tripping him and he stumbled. Then the beast was on him, crushing him against the ground. His dragon like maw opened to show hundreds of razor sharp teeth as his serpent tongue slipped out and across Foster's cheek.

"He's tasting him," someone shouted.

Foster brought the blade down on the naga's arm; if it did any damage he didn't see it. The blue beast swatted it away as he would an annoying fly and the blade flew across the cage. The naga wrapped his massive tail around Foster's legs and held him in place. As Foster fought to free himself, the beast slithered over to the cage door, dragging him hopelessly behind.

"I changed my mind," it hissed. "I want to keep this one."

The crowd booed. "Kill him or at least incapacitate him," Gilbert said between the bars.

The naga glanced over his shoulder at where Foster was struggling. The coils around him tightened, threatening to crush his legs. "No!" he screamed. The tail twitched lifting him up and toward the creature's chest. He swung, trying for the eyes; its talons gripped his arms and pulled them down to his side. They were like vices. In desperation Foster slammed its snout with his head, this got him a grunt. His head was then pushed painfully to the side baring his neck.

"Time to sleep, human," the naga whispered in his ear as his front fangs buried into his neck and shoulder.

The poison worked quickly numbing him, making movement impossible. As he went limp the grip on him went lessened. There were cheers and shouts of denial from those outside the pen. Foster's last thought was of Nignath, "sorry …" he whispered as darkness claimed him.


	34. Chapter 34

**Chapter Thirty-Four – **_Nahoan Suntouched, Age 20_

"This is stupid," Nahoan said for the umpteenth time, "and I hate it."

"Stop that," Deni said swatting his hand away from his hair. "It's the latest style; the braid will keep your bangs from your eyes."

"I look like a girl," Nahoan sighed which got him a sharp tug from the male hairdresser behind him that was sporting a similar look.

The door opened and his father stepped inside, dressed in stylish suit, the ruffled cuffs peeking out from under jacket's sleeve. "How come you get to wear pants and I have to wear a stupid dress?" Nahoan said, hating how much he sounded like the child they thought him to be.

He instantly regretted the words when Adare followed his father inside. However, he just stood silently beside the door. "It isn't a dress," Deni said. "It's a robe; you're too young to be dressed in slacks. All the children will be in their initiation robes. Please do try to cheer up young master this is an exciting time for you and your father."

"Son," his father pulled up a chair in front of him. He took Nahoan's manicured hands into his own. "I need you to promise me to be on your best behavior tonight. I know these past weeks haven't been easy for you. This is not only the ball before the aptitude test of the academy it is also your coming home party. There will be countless of Quel'dorei that will be here just to see you. The King himself will make an appearance."

"No pressure," Nahoan whispered. He looked over at his father's pleading eyes. "I'll do my best," he said with a forced smile.

His father leaned forward and Nahoan resisted the urge to pull away. The older elf kissed his cheek and rested his forehead against his. "Love you, my son."

Those were words he could not return, he let the silence answer for him. There was heavy sigh from his father who patted his knee and stood. "The guests will be arriving soon," he said. "Please finish dressing him Nanny Deni; I want him downstairs to greet them."

"Yes, sir," she said.

At her gesture he stood and the robe was slipped on. It was made of soft fiery red velvet with gold trim. Nahoan was sure the gems that sparkled as accents were real. "May I at least wear leggings?" he asked.

"No," Adare replied. "If you so much as start to throw a temper tantrum I'll have you over my knee in front of all of Silvermoon. Every Quel'dorei will be talking tomorrow about the bunnies on your underwear. That is not a threat but a promise, young master. You embarrass your father and I'll return it tenfold."

"Oh enough of the scare tactics," Deni said with a forced laugh. "Nahoan will be on his best behavior tonight and I bet if he's not careful he'll even enjoy himself." Rings were added to his fingers along with a second golden bracer that closely matched the one that kept him bound to Silvermoon. "Just so it matches," Deni explained.

The sounds of bells warned them of the first guest. Deni shooed him out of his bedroom. "Go on," she said, "I still need to get changed. I'll be around if you need me. And do try to have fun, for your father's sake."

Nahoan spent the next few hours being a very handsome fashion accessory to his father. He said the right words and smiled at mostly the right times. Keeping within an arm's distance of his father, he honored his request of behaving; though his cheeks were getting sore from all the pinches both males and females liked to give him. Finally the inflow of guests slowed and his father dismissed him telling Nahoan to find himself a drink. The large ballroom at his father's estate overflowed into the garden with guests. As he took some punch from a crystal bowl, a young female in a matching crimson robe ran up to him. "We're going to play games in the garden do you want to join?" It was on the tip of his tongue to decline when she continued, "think we're going to play hide-n-seek first and then maybe a game of tag."

"Hide-n-seek sounds fun," he said, setting down the glass and allowing himself to be dragged out into the garden. There he found a dozen other similar dressed elves. After a quick game that involved a nursery rhyme of some sort a boy and a girl were picked as "It" and as they covered their faces and counted, the other elves scattered.

Nahoan moved quickly and disappeared into the greenery surrounding the garden. Anyone one that had tried to follow was quickly left behind. Soon he left the boundaries of the garden and the game and ducked into the stables. All the hands were at the party so he had the barn to himself. A low neigh brought him to the stall that held his palomino, Rook. "Hey, girl," he said rubbing a hand down her. "It's been awhile, I'm sorry. They won't let me ride you. Though I've ridden for years, suddenly it's not safe for me." He rolled his eyes at the horse.

The mare looked well cared for, he appreciated that. He looked out the barn door to the house where the party was in full swing. "I need to get back," he said sadly. The horse let out another neigh and he smiled. "Okay you talked me into it." Finding the bridle he slipped it over Rook's head and led her outside the barn. With practiced ease he swung up bareback. "Just a quick run," he said, "I shouldn't be missed."

He touched his heels to her and she took off. He doubted she got rode much if at all, the elves seemed to favor their birds. She raced down the deserted streets at a gallop. He missed this and he wasn't sure if it was the horse or his freedom. He let Rook choose their path. An approaching sound caused him to pull up on the reins; Rook's coat was damp with sweat. He blinked, how long had they been out. It only seemed like moments. The heavy breathing horse said otherwise. Two Hawkstriders appeared down the street, the stance of one of the riders, warned him who was it was before Adare shouted out. Turning Rook around with a jerk he urged the horse back the way they had come. A Hawkstrider cut him off as it barged out of an alley, Adare made a wild grab for Nahoan's reins but he managed to twist away and urge the horse on.

"Stop!" the man shouted. Remembering the threat from earlier, there was no way he was going to obey that command. His only thought was to return to his father and pray he would protect him. If not out of concern for his son, then for his reputation; the noise of the party reached his ears and he rode toward it. Without stopping he jumped the low gate and rode Rook straight into the garden. There were shouts as startled elves hurried out of his way.

"Sorry," Nahoan said as he slid off the back of his horse and tied the reins on a nearby tree. He ducked through the open door and into the crowded ballroom. Looking around he found his father standing near a collection of elves dressed in regal robes. As Nahoan hurried toward him, a hand grabbed his arm and he looked into the disapproving eyes of Deni. "Where have you been? I sent Adare to find you an hour ago. By the Sunwell, what did you do to your hair, clothes … you look like you've been rolling around in the stables! You cannot meet King Anasterian looking like that!"

Over her shoulder he saw an angry Adare come through the garden door. Shrugging himself free he hurried over to his father, Deni appeared in front of him holding out her hands. "We're going to your room, young man."

"No ma'am," Nahoan said, "I'm going to my father."

As he moved forward again, a strong hand grabbed his arm. "I warned you," Adare said.

"I should have warned you," Nahoan replied. "My brother is stronger than you and I can whip his ass fifty percent of the time." He turned around and hit Adare in the face with months of pent up rage. Ignoring the shouts around him, his world shrunk down to the elf in front of him. Pressing his advantage of surprise he tackled the older elf bringing them both down to the ground. He got a couple more solid blows in before Adare came to his senses and started blocking the attacks.

"You're going to make me forget you're a child," he growled, through a busted lip.

Nahoan laughed, it was dark and without humor. "Please forget old man, will make kicking your ass even sweeter."

"Nahoan Suntouched!" his father's yell startled him. It was enough for Adare to get a punch into his gut and knock him off. Rolling with attack Nahoan was back on his feet his legs apart and his hands held up in front of him. As Adare charged, he met him … it was flurry of fists with his hitting more often than the other's. The stable master may have broken hundreds cockatrices but Nahoan spent ten years sparing with his brother to prepare him for this moment.

A hand grabbed his arm as he went to throw another punch; he spun around ready to deal with the new threat when Deni let out a scream. Her frightened look defused his anger and his hand dropped. Looking around he saw a half dozen tables knocked over, elves were standing around the sides of the room with looks of shock and disgust on their faces. His father stood beside an elf that could only be the King of Silvermoon, Kael'thas. The look on his sire's face was cold fury. Taking another look around the room he came to the realization the elves here meant nothing to him. He didn't need their approval or kindness. They had taken everything from him. Glancing down at the golden bracelet on his wrist he remembered Lor'themar's words, _in a hundred years_ long after those that loved him were gone. It would be centuries before he saw them again in the next life, unless he was there to meet them. The idea freed him from his despair … that was something these elves couldn't take away from him. There was no struggle left in him as the battered Adare grabbed him roughly and pushed him toward his sire. Only the resolve he had … was that he'd seen his last sunrise, he would need to write a short note tonight, make sure Rook was given to Halduron, the elf had ridden him well. Deni appeared beside Master Suntouched with the wooden paddle her hand. Nahoan wouldn't fight the punishment; it would give his sire some sort of justice for his faux pas. By tomorrow it would be irrelevant and it matter not what the elves gossiped about tonight.

He was about a dozen steps away from his angry father when there was more shouting and he was surrounded by three elves. Lady Sylvanas, Lor'themar and Halduron stood around him, though dressed elegantly for the ball all three had a pair of deadly weapons in their hands.

"What is the meaning of this Ranger-General?" King Anasterian asked calmly.

"I finally figured out why he was trying to put a square peg in a circle hole," Sylvanas said.

Nahoan stared at the back of the elf that was protecting him. Halduron had knocked away the injured Adare.

"I'm sorry my son upset you;" Master Suntouched said tensely, "please allow me to punish him for his childish tantrum."

"That was no childish tantrum," Sylvanas said coldly. "That was a man's last desperate attempt to get recognized for who he is truly is and who we've turned a blind eye to."

Nahoan struggled to catch his breath could she really … did she really … dare he hope?

"This man was raised by humans; he was brought up as a human." Sylvanas said, "As disgusting as some of us find that fact it is still the truth. Master Suntouched when your son was returned to you, he came to you as a man. And you have forced him to fit the mold of a child. For one moment imagine if I took you over my knee, here in front of your peers. What would be going through your head, sir? I met your son ten years ago in middle of an important mission so Lor'themar and I decided to leave him where he was." She spoke over her shoulder at Nahoan who was now physically shaking. "Those years ago when we left, Lor'themar gave you his bow … when did you start hunting with it?"

"The very next day, ma'am," Nahoan said.

"He's been hunting with a bow for ten years and you," Sylvanas pointed to a woman that took him a moment to recognize as the Fletcher from earlier today, "wanted to sell him a toy bow … because you like the rest of us, took him as a child."

"The fight we just witnessed was not the skill of a child!" She continued. "It was the expertise of a warrior. I'm sure most of you couldn't see what those of us trained in battle could, but you can tell can't you, Adare?" She turned toward the battered stable master. "You were once in our ranks, you recognized his skills." Adare's eyes flashed but he didn't answer.

She turned and knelt before Nahoan, surprising him, the two elves with her quickly did the same. "Forgive me, all of us, for not recognizing what you were screaming at the top of your lungs. I saw the hope leave your eyes as you turned to face your father. I was a moment too slow putting the pieces together. I beg you to give the Quel'dorei another chance; don't carry out the dark thoughts in your mind."

She understood, by the Light she had figured it out. He couldn't speak; he didn't even know where to start. There was a loud clatter as the paddle fell to the floor. There was a range of emotions on his father's face, he took a deep breath and stepped forward.

"I'm sorry," his father said loud enough for all to hear. "I must end the ball early this year. My servants will help see you to the door. I need to speak to my son." After some whispered words to the King he approached. Sylvanas and Lor'themar moved in front of Nahoan.

"Stand down," King Anasterian commanded, "his father has given me his word Nahoan will not come to harm in his care."

Sylvanas turned to Nahoan, "one of my Rangers will be by to collect you tomorrow it is past time you joined the Farstriders."

"I told you he's too young …" Deni started.

"You're fired Nanny Deni," his father said. "Please collect your belongings and leave. I'll send a courier tomorrow with the rest of your pay for this month. Adare your services are no longer needed within the house, please return to the stables after you get those bruises looked at."

"Gladly, sir," Adare said.

"Adare," Nahoan said, finding his voice.

"Sir?" Adare said, coolly.

"Thank you for taking such good care of my horse, she looks beautiful," he said.

That got him a nod and the elf walked outside where he collected Rook, who was still tethered to a tree.

"Son," his father said, "please if you would like, go to your room and find clothes you are comfortable in and meet me in my study. It is past time we talked." He turned to the trio elves that had protected Nahoan. "Lady Sylvanas may I please ask your Rangers wait a few more days," he said. "We'll need to buy him an appropriate wardrobe and I don't want to part on these terms."

"He's not leaving forever," Sylvanas said with a smirk.

"That is what my wife told me when she left for Dalaran," his father said sadly.


	35. Chapter 35

**Chapter Thirty-Five – **_Foster Conway, Age 22_

The pain was excruciating which in itself was some comfort it meant he wasn't dead. His skin felt like it was on fire; he wanted to tear it off and clawed at his shoulder where it radiated. A strong hand grabbed his arm preventing him and he screamed out in frustration.

"Good," a voice hissed in his ear, "I didn't kill you."

His final moments came back and he was instantly alert. The arm that held him shimmered with cobalt scales, the fins on it flickered. Gasping for breath he shuddered in the alien embrace, his body felt as if he had been laid out in the sun for week.

"Relax," the naga said, "I've given you the antidote to my venom, but it takes time."

"Why?" Foster said as his teeth started to chatter.

The beast shrugged his massive shoulders. "Perhaps I'm just sadistic, that is what my keeper thinks. Yours was quite upset when I refused to relinquish my prize, his loss for playing these repulsive games. Or perhaps I'm just lonely …" the talons moved down Foster's bare chest.

Foster weakly pushed the hand away. "I'm male," he said.

"Are you?" the naga chuckled, "you humans look all the same to me. Or maybe I'm just curious … they said you were their greatest fighter and lasted mere moments with me. I don't hold that against you, though. I am one of Queen Azshara's greatest myrmidons." The naga looked off to the side his tongue slipping out between his teeth. Releasing Foster from his grip he slithered over to a wall of iron bars. Looking around Foster saw they were in some sort of underground cavern, with rock on three sides and thick iron bars on the last. There was hay strew on the floor, where he laid it had been gathered up to look much like an oversized nest.

Forcing himself up on his hands and eventually to his feet, he stood using the cool cavern wall as support. Gilbert and two armed men appeared in front of the iron bars, well as close as he could get but still be arm's distances from the naga. "You alive, boy?"

"Yes, sir," Foster answered.

"I do hate when you toy with your food, lizard," Gilbert sighed. "You got Arthur worked up into a frenzy. Demanding compensation for crops lost or some gibberish … didn't get him anywhere … we all know the risks our fighters take when they go in the cage."

"I require food for my pet," the naga hissed through the bar.

"I ain't feeding some useless …"

The naga slammed his hand against the bar; causing old man Gilbert to jump back. "I require food for my pet," it said again. "And do make it edible or I'll rip your heart out and feed it to him."

"Exactly how do you plan to carry out that threat?" Gilbert said with a smirk. A leer that quickly turned to a look of terror as the naga's tail that had snuck out from between the bars circled around his ankle, jerking him off balance and toward the bars. "Get him idiots!" Gilbert shouted. The guards slashed down at the tail that whipped back into the cell.

"Food," the naga said as he moved away from the bars. As naga passed Foster its tail wrapped around his waist and pulled him along. Slithering back to the nest the snake like creature settled into it, lowering his body, pulling Foster into its coils. The scales rippled as he descended. Once it was content with his position it released Foster so he sat nestled in the curves of his tail and lower body. Its head dipped and to Foster's disgust the forked tongue traced his cheek and neck.

"I swear serpent," Foster growled, "you try to mate with me and you'll be fucking a corpse."

To his surprise the naga let out a hearty chuckle. "Calm yourself, human, you are not my type, just implanting your scent within me." The tongue slipped back into its mouth and just when Foster didn't think it could get any more repulsive a fine mist blew out of the beast's teeth, spraying him with a foul smelling liquid. Swearing he struggled to stand but the coils tightened around his legs. Wiping it off with his hands had no effect, the smell was overpowering and he gagged.

"By the Light, what was that?" Foster yelled, spitting, trying to clear his mouth from the small amount he had inhaled.

"If I go into bloodlust it will be your savior," the naga said. "You now smell and taste like me. Even when I'm lost to the call of blood, I won't strike off my own tail."

"What are you talking about?" Foster demanded.

"It will become clear in time," the naga said. "It is already drying, stop your howling."

Foster glowered at the naga but fell silent. There was the sound at the front of the cell as an orc appeared carrying a tray. "Ah dinner is here," the naga said, unwrapping himself from Foster and gliding over to the door.

"Please mean the tray and not the orc," Foster said.

"I don't mess my den, human," the naga replied. The orc didn't seem to find comfort in those words as it stopped a few feet away from the cell and set down the tray. Then using a stick lying nearby he pushed it closer to the bars. Afterwards he hurried out of sight and Foster heard the sounds of a heavy door closing in the distance.

"Stupid orc," the naga hissed. "Human come get your food, tell me if it is not suitable for eating."

Foster went to stand and stumbled falling onto the hard rock floor. Resting for a moment on all fours, he sighed as the cobalt scales wrapped around him and lifted him up. "Forgot how fragile you humans are … most naga would be recovered from the venom by now." Setting Foster down beside the tray the naga moved back to its nest. "Eat," it said.

The months of servitude had worn him and he reached through the bars to grab the bread and mug sitting on the tray. He took a bite of the bread and found it hard and stale. The liquid in the mug was slightly better, it was cool milk. Breaking off chunks of the bread he soaked it in the milk and ate them. Afterwards he sat where he was, in a state of half-sleep. The movement of the naga startled him awake. It made him realize a more primal need and he glanced around the cell, not finding what he was looking for. "Where is the chamber pot?" he asked. As fearful as they were of the naga there was no way they would take it out to do its business.

"Chamber pot?"

"You know, for when you have to go?" Foster said.

"We have no place to go unless the keeper says so," the naga said, with a trace of confusion in its voice.

"No," Foster said, a slight blush growing on his cheeks. "You know … when you have to go … after you eat and drink it has to go somewhere."

"Ah," the naga pointed over to a pile of hay on the far side of the cave. "I'm allowed to defecate over there; they clean it out every other day."

"I'm not some sort of beast," Foster growled.

"Neither am I," the naga said with a shrug of its broad shoulders.

Left with the choice of soiling himself or using the hay like cattle, he stumbled over to the corner and did his business. Afterwards he scrubbed himself using a bucket of water nearby that smelled clean. Cupping some water in his hands he went to wash his face but it was knocked aside by a lightning fast strike from the naga's tail. "Do not clean my scent from your skin, human," it ordered. "Hold out your arms."

Still too drained to do much more than obey Foster did as he was order. Shuddering as the naga sprayed him again with the foul smelling mist.

"What are you looking for now, human?"

"Just a place to close my eyes and rest," Foster said as he went to sit down.

"You'll sleep with me," the naga said. The tone left no room for arguing. With a sigh Foster approached the naga and was ready when the tail slipped around his bare waist and pulled him into the coils. "The other humans cover both their top and their bottom." The naga commented as he settled into the coils, finding them more comfortable than one would have thought.

"I haven't been permitted to wear a shirt in months," Foster yawned.

"Are you cold?" it asked. "I miss basking in the sun myself, but they seem to know this cursed cavern keeps me lethargic. The heat from your warm blood helps me but I am afraid I cannot return the favor."

Foster shrugged as he closed his eyes. "I've had it worse."

As sleep overcame him he thought he heard the naga whisper, "it will pale in comparison to what is to come."


	36. Chapter 36

**Chapter Thirty-Six – **_Nahoan Suntouched, Age 20_

A nightingale call sung through the treetops. It was the signal Nahoan was waiting for; he pulled back his bowstring and aimed his arrow at his target. The troll he had his sights on was a female, she too carried a bow but it was swung up on her shoulder. A large wolf walked at her side. Nahoan took a moment to congratulate himself on hiding his scent from the beast. However, he knew praise wouldn't be what he heard from Captain Brightwing after this exercise. As the others launched their arrows with deadly accuracy, Nahoan's shot hit his target as he had planned as well. In her right shoulder cutting the bowstring in half, rendering it useless, but not killing the troll like the others had. He closed his eyes and whispered a prayer as one of his other comrades finished her off. There was another birdcall, Nahoan shouldered his bow and slipped down from the tree he was perched in. Moving silently he fell in step alongside his five man squad. There was no talking as they moved like shadows through the forest. It gave Nahoan a chance to think of an excuse when the Captain ripped him a new one, as well as recollect on the time that had passed since he joined the Farstrider ranks.

Living with the Farstriders was a world of difference from his first months with the High Elves. Gone were the childish toys, the coddling …the nanny. His youth wasn't denied though, often called baby by the other rangers. His first days at Farstrider Retreat had been a fresh introduction to the world of the Elves. His superiors worried about him hurting himself had assigned him to Lor'themar Theron squad. Though Halduron Brightwing was the one he reported to now and days. His bracer had been attuned differently by a mage; he now had most of Eversong to roam freely. Crossing Elrendar River to the south would still get him a quick trip to Silvermoon fountain, so his squad was obliged to keep the forest trolls near Tor'Watha from straying too far from their huts. If the Farstriders had the capability they would eradicate the whole tribe. Tor'Watha was fortified and as long as they kept to their stronghold the powers-to-be didn't seem too much in a rush to finish off what the generations beforehand started. That was okay with Nahoan, he just didn't have it in him to kill.

If it was a beast meant to feed himself or his family he had no qualms. But to take a life of another just because they were the wrong race, just felt wrong to him. He credited his parents for that, the ones that raised him. He and his elfin father, Brix Suntouched got along better, when he was granted leave to return to Silvermoon. It had been a difficult transition for his sire, there had been moments where he'd slip back into his old ways but he would catch himself and apologize. Nahoan asked to be treated as an equal and last weekend enjoyed an afternoon with Master Suntouched in his winery. His room back at the estate had been rid of all the toys, except for the giant rocking horse at his request because that humored him to no end. It was now a comfortable, private sleeping area.

Private … that was a luxury he did not have as Farstrider. His squad worked, ate and slept together. They _really_ slept together ... in an oversized bed, five bodies tangled in harmonious slumber. Two of the rangers were female, there were no sexual undertones directed toward him, but his ma would be fit to be tied. Well it was comfortable now; the first few days had been tough for him. He hadn't shared a bed with anyone since Foster had shielded him from thunderstorms as children. Halduron … Captain Brightwing refused to let him sleep on the floor nearby but had let him sleep on the edge of the bed the first few days. An honor usually reserved for the most experienced. Eventually he had to trade places and get moved further in the middle. Now he slept dead center, though most mornings didn't wake up there. Everyone traveled across the mattress as they slept. He'd wake up with his head on someone's chest and his legs on another's back. Then there was bathing, he still blushed like an idiot. The others loved to tease him restlessly.

The Retreat came into view and the squad relaxed. "Rangers Swiftwind, Helios, and Solanna dismissed, go hit the showers" Captain Brightwing said, "good job out there, Ranger Suntouched with me."

Following Halduron to the archery range, his commander gestured at one of the distant targets. "Empty your quiver into the mark," he said.

"Empty, sir, shouldn't I go get my practice arrows?" he asked with a frown. Like most Rangers he carried a dozen well made arrows once they were fired into a target they were useless. He would have to acquire more.

"Is your hearing as bad as your shot?" Halduron asked coolly.

Slipping the bow and an arrow from his back in one fluid motion Nahoan fired. It hit dead center. Before it struck he had a second one out of his quiver, this one landed slightly up and to the left of the first. The third was above and to the right. The remaining arrows he placed in an arch below the first, ending up with a smiley face on the target.

"Farstriders are quick, expert and ruthless," Captain Brightwing said. "You, Ranger Suntouched, have the first one down, working on the second … and failing completely at the third point." Nahoan didn't bother to reply and waited as his superior continued. "The Shadowpine trolls have killed countless Quel'dorei. The scouts we picked off today wouldn't have hesitated to return the favor; we have been waging this war for generations."

"The Quel'dorei came into their lands, slaughtered their people, stole their ancestral lands … I think their anger towards us is justified." Nahoan replied.

"And humans did the same thing to the south, in the forest you cling to as your birthplace. That too was home to the forest trolls how many tribes do you see there now? All through out history there are conquests! Fate and circumstances made Quel'Thalas the High Elves home and as a Farstrider you are sworn to protect that home. If your destiny had been to remain with your human family and they were attacked by bandits wouldn't you use deadly force to protect them?"

Thinking of his family hurt just as bad today as it did six months ago. It must have shown on his face, Halduron's stance softened. The chastisement was over. Reaching out the elder put his hand on the back of Nahoan's neck and leaned forward kissing him on his forehead. "Collect your arrows and let's go join the others at the showers."

Feeling his cheeks grow warm he mumbled something about having to buy new arrows first from the fletcher. Halduron laughed. "I'll tell Paelarin to drop some off in our room, get a move on it Ranger."

"Yes, sir," Nahoan said as he jogged over to the target and pulled out the arrows. He dropped them into a bucket where a skilled fletcher would salvage the arrowhead and any other parts that were still useable. Afterwards he headed toward the communal bathing area. He had grown to appreciate the elfin philosophy toward the naked body, but had yet to overcome the modesty he was taught as a child. He found Halduron sitting on one of the ornate benches lined outside, shirtless and working on his boots. There were piles of discarded armor around him, along with bows and quivers from the other three already in the showers. They were not the only Ranger squad at Farstrider Retreat; however each unit pretty much kept to themselves answering only to the Ranger-General. Halduron had recently been advance to the rank of Captain when Lor'themar Theron had been promoted out of their squadron. Most Farstrider units were three to five so theirs, being at six for a short time after his arrival, had made it a tad bit on the larger side for a month or so.

The others of his team had treated him fairly since day one, there was no adversity or resentment for his seemly replacement of their once leader. Though they did not coddle him, they were protective. He hadn't figured it out if it was because of youth in their eyes or if they would do the same to any new member.

He quickly stripped down; being naked in front of his Captain was of little concern, it was the females that awaited him that gave him the butterflies in his stomach. Following Halduron into the large outdoor bathing room, they found their squad under the showers in the back. Walking past the soaking pools they joined them. Nahoan enjoyed the warm water that cascaded down over him; the showers back home had been straight from the ground and chilly. Keeping his gaze on the wall in front of him, he startled to feel another set of hands in his hair. "Your hair feels like corn silk," Ranger Swiftwind said, one of the two females in their group. She used nearby shampoo and washed his hair for him. This wasn't the first time someone had washed his hair. It seemed like an elfin ritual, as he had seen the elves wash one another many times. So he didn't take offense to it as a form of childish treatment. He still couldn't help but blush at the thought of her standing so close to him, both of them naked. At her command he rinsed out his hair and she put conditioner in it. "My turn, while that rests," she said, offering him a bottle of scented shampoo. She turned around, and his blush deepened as his eyes traveled the length of her naked body.

Rangers Helios and Solanna snickered from where he was kneeling in front of her so she could reach the top of his head while she put soap into his long blond hair. Nahoan quickly worked Swiftwind's hair into a lather and then after she rinsed it off put some conditioner in it, working his fingers through her long blond locks. Afterwards he was allowed to retreat back under one of the showers to rinse his hair and cool his blush. There was a soft pat on his shoulder. "Tap," Halduron said.

This game he knew was for his benefit and he hated it. The rules were simple enough, the other team members would touch him somewhere on his body and say 'tap' he had ten seconds to tap them back in the same location on their own body. It was to get him comfortable with being uncovered in front of them. If after ten seconds he hadn't tapped them back, the person got another try and Nahoan noticed the pats got harder the longer he delayed. A shoulder touch was easy enough and he reached over and rapped his Captain on the shoulder. "Tap" he said.

Tender fingers touched the backside of his knee. "Tap," Solanna said.

Keeping his gaze averted he knelt down in front of her and reached behind her, returning the touch. He was sure she could feel the heat from his blush. "Tap," he replied.

As he stood fingers touched the middle of his back, "tap," Ranger Helios said.

Another easy touch for him to return, he reached behind the man and tapped him back. Then he received a firm swat on his ass, "tap," Solanna said, her eyes sparkling. Nahoan looked over at his Captain silently pleading. Halduron smiled and nodded. He had paused too long and another smack landed on his other cheek, "tap" Solanna said, trying hard not to laugh. Sighing he blocked the third blow and reached behind her swatting her lightly on the bottom.

"Tap," he said, "please enough."

The Captain nodded. "Better, she only had to tap you twice this time. First time I don't think you sat down for a week." He motioned for his crew to move toward the soaking pools. As Nahoan slid into the borderline boiling water, Solanna sat down behind him. Her bottom on the pavers and her legs draped over his shoulders, feet floating in the water. She took out a comb and started working it through his wet locks. "Did you really not use conditioner until you came to Silvermoon?" she asked.

"We just used lye soap my mother made to scrub off the dirt from the fields with," he said.

"Weird," she replied.

The chatter was friendly banter and he found himself relaxing in the warm water and caressing touches from Solanna. There was no belittling of his shot taken, his companions left that to their Captain, the mission was a success and that was good enough for now. Nahoan wondered how long that would last; he knew there would come a time they would expect him to kill for the sake of the Quel'dorei.

"Sister," Helios said, "your putting the baby asleep with your touches."

"Give him a few more years, Brother, and see what my touches do to him." Solanna replied.

Shaking himself from his daze Nahoan stood and stretched; climbing out of the pool he went to the stack of warm robes nearby and pulled one on. His hair had been twisted down his back in a single braid, leaving it to him to style later. The rest of the squadron followed his lead, cheating him of the moment alone he had hoped for. Their clothing and weapons outside the bathing house had already been collected, it would be washed, repaired if needed and returned to their room by tomorrow. Walking barefoot along a stone pathway they reached the common house and filed up the twisting ramp to their room. Once there it was a matter of changing into casual clothes and then heading down to the dining hall for a late dinner.

Nahoan hung back trying to give the others a lead, his delay wasn't noticed and they disappeared down the hall chatting. Afterward he walked out onto the small balcony and sat down on the chair out there. Sitting back so he could rest his feet on the railing he looked over the golden bracer on his wrist. For all the respect, responsibility, companionship the Quel'dorei gave him they still didn't trust him enough to remove the invisible shackle. He smirked and rightfully so, first he would make sure his brother was safe and then his family. Though, the thought of coming back someday wasn't the horrible idea it once was.

He heard the soft footfalls of someone returning to the room, the chair he sat on was out of sight of those within but he knew he was no way hidden from another Farstrider. Solanna peeked around the corner. "Captain Brightwing kindly requests your presence for dinner, Ranger Suntouched."

"Don't you mean order?" Nahoan said standing.

"Well my way sounds nicer," she replied hooking her arm around his as he stood. "What are you doing out there? Not smoking bloodthistle are you? Captain will have your hide."

"If I was," Nahoan said, "you would know it by the stink. I just wanted a few minutes to myself been a busy day. Sorry to pull you away from your supper."

"A few private moments with a young sex Quel'dorei is never a bad thing in my book," she replied coyly. "Promise to look me up in a century or two, okay?"

"Sounds like a date," Nahoan said as they walked into the dining hall.

"Date?" Helios said rising a slender eyebrow.

Nahoan sat down next to Halduron as he nodded. "Yes, Ranger Solanna asked me out on date."

"Cradle robber!" Swiftwind gasped with a grin.

The table broke into easy laughter that was interrupted when a harried elf ran up to the table and saluted at Halduron. "Sorry to interrupt your dinner," he said. "Ranger-General Windrunner requests that your squad be ready to move out as soon as possible. There is an urgent reconnaissance needed to the south."

"How far south?" Nahoan interrupted getting him a disapproving look from his commander. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"Deep in Blackened Woods," the elf said. "She'll be here shortly with more orders."

"All right," Halduron said, "Nahoan finish your dinner, you're grounded. The rest of you gather up what you can eat on the run. You," he said pointing to the elf that delivered the message. "Go to the armory tell them Brightwing squad needs their armors and weapons returned immediately, and make sure the quivers are full."

As everyone hurried off Nahoan was alone like he had been hoping for, and miserable for being so. "Be careful what you wish for," he said softly as he stared at the food cooling on his plate.


	37. Chapter 37

**Chapter Thirty-Seven– **_Foster Conway, Age 22_

Was it possible to be disgusted with one's own skin? Foster's only comfort was the lack of a mirror so he couldn't see how bad he actually was. The naga that called himself Zalashji did not seem too concerned to keep his 'slaaf' clean. As long as their keepers brought him meals the naga was content with his care. The slight sound of uncoiling scales warned him a moment before they wrapped around, pulling him back into the nest.

"Are you brooding, slaaf?" the naga asked.

"I haven't been idle this long in years," Foster said. "The months of servitude and pit fighting feel like a vacation compared to the past days of sitting in my own filth. My sanity is being tested."

The naga laughed, it came out as deep grunt. Its talon-like fingers combed through Foster's matted hair. "All right my little slaaf," he hissed. "I was just waiting to make sure you had mended completely. We can start your training now."

"My training …" Foster asked.

"You are the humans' fearsome warrior, now it is time for you to be trained as a myrmidon." Zalashji replied as he uncoiled and slithered off the nest.

"For what end?" he asked.

The giant lizard creature shrugged his shoulders. "Perhaps for my own entertainment and studies," he said, "I want to test the endurance of humans. Now stand and ready yourself."

Knowing after days of idleness he was in no way ready for any kind of training, it still seemed better than another moment of being a human hot water bottle for the coldblooded naga. He stood and stretched, then fell into a defensive stance and waited. They both knew he was no match for the naga in his prime let alone now. The serpent lashed out with his tail and Foster waited for it to wrap around him like it had in the past. This time though it slammed into his hip, sending him flying. He relaxed with the attack and rolled. Quickly he scrambled to his feet and faced off again. A second attack sent him to knees and still he did not defend or counterattack. The months of servitude taught him that his master could do what he wanted; to fight back only led to harsher punishments. Gilbert had made it very clear these past days that he wanted nothing to with Foster and that the naga was his master.

"Why do you cower, slaaf?" Zalashji demanded. "Let me see this formidable human warrior!"

"You want me to attack?" Foster asked.

"Yes …" Zalashji hissed. He didn't finish as Foster lunged forward, dropping so his hands landed on the ground, as he brought both feet up kicking the naga in the chest. The attack did little; the serpent used its tail to keep upright. A strong hand grabbed his ankle before he had finished his kick, jerking him upright so he dangled in front of the naga upside down. 'That wasn't very effective," it hissed, tossing Foster away, "try again."

The next few hours were spent sparring with the naga. Eventually it started teaching him, showing him moves that he hadn't been taught by the warriors of Stratholme. Using the weight and strength of the naga against him he managed to almost unbalance Zalashji. The tail was perplexing him; it seemed able to adjust to any attack to keep the naga upright. Their wrangling ended when a meal appeared; Foster had no idea if it was midday or evening dinner. His was a cooled noodle soup with chunks of what he hoped was chicken floating in the broth, along with a half loaf of bread and weak ale. The naga had what looked like half of boar from the slaughter house that it greedily ate, throwing the bones out of the cage as he finished. Afterwards Foster was dragged back to the nest where the serpent curled around him, still sweaty from their bouts the naga let out what sounded like purr.

"So warm," it hissed. After a meal like that Foster knew the naga would sleep for awhile and trapped within the coils he had little choice but to do the same or spend the hours lost in his own hopelessness. He opted for a nap and adjusting himself he settled down on the scales and closed his eyes.

They were both woken what felt like hours later by the noisy coming and goings of orcs. It took Foster a bit to realize that they had brought down what looked like a trough, that was resting in front of the cage and were busy running back and forth with buckets of water. Zalashji patted his head, rhythmically as they watched the busy orcs. "Seems I'm being called upon tonight," the naga finally said. Since his arrival neither of them had been permitted to leave the cage.

Gilbert appeared with three armed men who raised their weapons as the door to the cage was opened. The older man dropped a pair of heavy manacles on the ground. "Boy, put those on the lizard," he said as he shut the door and stepped back.

Foster looked over his shoulder at the naga who nodded. Walking over to the irons he picked them up. They were heavy and thick. Zalashji held out one arm and Foster clicked the manacle in place. "Behind his back!" Gilbert ordered.

Zalashji allowed Foster to secure his hands behind him. Only then did the door open again. Weapons were still raised and Gilbert motioned toward the bath they had drawn. "Hydrate and clean yourself, lizard," he said, "We found a mark for you tonight."

Zalashji glided toward the door, the men outside backed up bringing their guns to their shoulders. Ignoring them the naga easily climbed into the large trough. Once in the water a couple of orc maidens appeared and using brushes and soap began to scrub him. Foster could only look on jealously from within the cell as the buckets of water were poured over the naga rinsing him, until his scales glistened. While this was going on, Gilbert had left the prison leaving his armed guards behind.

After they had finished Zalashji climbed out of the bath, the orcs used towels to dry him as they did the naga studied him. "What brooding looks, slaaf," it hissed. "Who knew humans were such clean creatures? Wouldn't know by the filth you throw into the water. Would you like to bathe?"

With little hope of his wish being granted, Foster nodded. The naga gestured toward the water he just left. "You may use it if you desire, be quick."

Foster quickly stripped off his leggings, the only piece of clothing he still possessed. Bringing them with him, he climbed into the cooling water. The tub had been brought in for a naga so it was almost deep enough for him to swim in. First he grabbed the soap resting nearby and scrubbed his pants. Then he started cleaning himself, as he worked on his hair one of the orc maidens reached out to help. As her fingers brushed his scalp the cavern interrupted in a terrible roar. Zalashji charged out of the cell he had returned to, knocking the guards down with one mighty swipe of his tail. "He's mine!" the naga shouted.

Without thinking Foster jumped out of the tub and threw himself on top of the orc maiden bringing them both to the ground. He would be little protection to her but he didn't know what else to do. Strong claws grabbed him around the waist and lifted him; the forked tongue slithered down his neck. There was a moment pause and Foster shouted in orcish for the woman to run, she and her companion didn't hesitate and raced out of the room.

The men had recovered their guns and brought them into their sights. Gilbert rushed into the room, "what the hell?" he shouted. Foster wondered what the sight must have looked like, with him naked in the naga's grip.

"The orc touched him," Zalashji hissed, "he's mine … there must only be my scent on him. No one else …"

"I'll whip the wench," Gilbert said, "now get back in your cage and take your whore with you." Foster was dragged back into the cell and thrown down on the nest, the naga loomed over him. He noticed then the chain between the heavy manacles had been snapped in two.

"Mine," it hissed, at the same time spraying Foster with the foul smelling mist. One of the guards tossed Foster's wet leggings into the cell as the door was shut and locked.

"Fuck it," Foster moaned wiping his face. "I get it, I'm yours …" he angrily pushed the naga aside and went to collect his pants. He hung them over the bars and hoped they would dry eventually in the cavern.

The tail coiled around him and dragged him back. Foster fought it; he had his fill of naga today. The grip came like iron and he was jerked harshly off his feet, whipped around in the air until his head spun, and then thrown down on the nest. Before he could find his senses he found himself pinned under the massive body of the naga. His arms held over his head and the gaping jowl of the other inches from his face. Hundreds of razor sharp teeth opened as the serpent tongue slid out and licked Foster's cheek.

"Submit to me human," Zalashji hissed.

"I already have," Foster shouted back, "you already made me your slave or slaaf or whatever you call it. There is nothing else for me to submit to you, lizard!"

"Oh there isn't," the naga's tail wrapped around his leg and Foster felt it creep closer to his crotch, it felt different almost a sensual tease. A cold fear gripped him and he tried to struggle but the naga had him completely at his mercy.

"You said I wasn't your type," Foster cried, panic replacing anger.

"Any port in a storm," the naga said, "isn't that what you humans say? Submit to me human."

"_Bend, Brother!"_ Nignath's words came back to him. Swallowing what little pride he had left Foster went limp in the lizard's grip. "As you wish," he whispered closing his eyes.

Zalashji let out his harsh barking laugh and Foster found himself freed. "That will do, slaaf. Stay in the nest and out of my way," the naga said. "The humans were foolish to feed me before a fight. It makes me slothful; I'll need to work myself into a blood frenzy if I am to give the keeper the show he wants. It will be wise if you do not draw my attention to yourself."

Foster grabbed the blanket Zalashji had requested for him earlier in his servitude. It was wool and scratchy but it was warm and he was still naked. Then he curled up with his head his arm and watched the naga as he glided the length of the room chanting in a language he didn't understand. Suddenly Zalashji bit himself in the arm, and crimson red spots splattered on the ground. He slithered over to the cage wall and shouted for a healer. A few minutes later an older orc came hesitantly into the room. The naga placed his arm through the bar. "Heal me," he demanded.

The orc cautiously approached and after the naga didn't harm him, took out some bandages and ointment. After he dressed the wound he turned to leave and Zalashji reached between the bars with his other hand and grabbed the orc.

"No!" Foster shouted sitting up, but it was too late the cell was splashed with the orc's blood as the naga's razor sharp claws slit his throat.

Zalashji's blood-covered snout turned toward him and the warning of not drawing any attention came back. Cowering he lowered himself in the nest. The naga went back to shredding what he could of the orc between the bars until there was a puddle of blood on the floor. Unable to watch Foster covered himself with the blanket. Nathaniel used to do the same when shadows scared him. How he wished it was just shadows that terrified him.

It seemed like hours that he laid there afraid to breathe when he heard the sound of many feet approaching. "Oh … what the hell?" Gilbert shouted, "That was my only green-skin healer! What the hell did you do?" There was sound of retching as others that came with him surveyed the damaged. Foster stayed where he was, he didn't need to see.

The blanket was jerked aside and he startled. Zalashji stared down at him for a moment and then tossed his still damp leggings at him. "Put on your covering," it hissed.

"Looks like the boy got him some lizard lovin," someone said with a laugh. "Old man Burton said he had a taste for orcs too … freak."

Foster slid on his pants and knelt down, waiting. "All right, lizard," Gilbert said. "I saw what you did with the last set of irons, had to make a rush job for some titansteel bracelets for you. Cost me a pretty penny but better than having you loose. Boy, same as before …" the chains were tossed into the cage.

Foster looked up at Zalashji and waited. The naga stood there silently for a long moment only the tip of his tail twitching, finally he gave a slight nod and Foster retrieved the shackles. He slipped them on as before binding the naga's hands behind his back. "All right," Gilbert said, opening the door of the cage. "Your fans await, let's make enough for me to buy another healer. Get some orcs in here to clean this mess up, the place already smelled like an outhouse." As the naga slid past Foster, its tail wrapped around his waist, pulling him along toward the door.

"Leave your toys behind, lizard," Gilbert ordered. "This is a one-on-one fight."

"I do not trust you humans," Zalashji said with a hiss. "My slaaf comes with me, he won't fight but he will be in the cage with me so I can keep an eye on him."

"They ain't going like that Mr. Gilbert," one of the men said.

"Maybe we'll get lucky and he won't make it back out alive," Gilbert said with a shrug.

The armed squad led Zalashji out of the cavern and into a cool evening. Foster was wrapped in the coils of his tail while the naga glided across the grass. They were greeted by an enthusiastic crowd of men. Zalashji let out a roar that sent them scampering back, and then let out one of his barking laughs as he allowed them to him put in the cage in the middle of the barn.

"What the hell?" Foster heard a familiar voice shout. "You're still alive?"

Turning he saw Arthur and Jasper Burton in the crowd, their faces instantly made his rage build. Zalashji must have sensed a change, he jerked Foster toward him. Wrapping his massive arms around Foster he held him close. This caused the crowd outside to laugh. "First an orc's bitch and now a lizard's," Jasper said. "You'll sleep with anything that has a cock won't you? Does that thing even have one?"

Zalashji started combing Foster's hair with his talons as they waited. He came to realize the naga did that as he would pet a cat or dog. Finally the shouts grew louder and a large form appeared in the barn's doorway. "Ogre," Foster and Zalashji said at the same time. This one was different from the last one Foster had fought it only had one head.

"All muscle, no brains," Zalashji said as he placed Foster down on the ground behind him. "Remember the blood lust," he warned. Sitting Foster made sure he was against the corner of the bars. "This won't take long," the naga hissed as he slithered forward to meet the ogre being put into the cage.

A hand on his shoulder startled him. Jasper was kneeling down close to him. "You get to the door while they're fighting and I'll get you out of that cage. Your orc whore misses you."

Foster nodded slightly. Then the match began, he couldn't help but think Zalashji was thrown off by the speed of the ogre. With the two of them in the cage it was pretty cramped. As the two titans clashed Foster slowly started making his way around the cage. Being back under Percy and the Burtons' cruel hands was more desirable than to spend another night as a serpent's play toy, plus he'd be back with Nignath. He had almost made it to the door where Jasper waited when the ogre sailed over his head. Flattening himself against the floor he avoided getting hit. The ogre was quickly on his feet and charging Zalashji again. As ogre and naga collided, Foster ran for the door. Jasper was just starting to unlock it when a roar reached Foster's ears. He'd heard that sound before and increased his speed. The door cracked open and he lunged for it. A tail grabbed him around the ankle and tossed him back. The men outside rushed to close the door pressing their bodies against it as latches were slid in place.

"MINE!" Zalashji shouted.

Foster looked over at the decapitated head of the ogre. Zalashji charged him and pinned him to the ground. "Mine!" he said again. The tongue flickering in and out, picking up their mingled scents. The beast let out a terrible roar inches from Foster's face, he was sure more than one man soiled their pants at the cry. "I warned you, human!" Foster found himself turn over in the naga's grip so was lying face down in the dirt. A talon traced the branded Bs on his back. "You said these, mark you as another's?" the beast hissed.

"Yeah, you stupid snake," Jasper shouted back, "he belongs to us … give him back!"

There was a flash of movement from Zalashji and Foster barely followed something flying out of the cage and burying itself in Jasper's forehead. Arthur let out a horrible cry as his son crumpled. But Foster had more pressing concerns. The naga dragged one of his talons down the middle of Foster's back, leaving behind a bloody trail. It then added a few more curved marks up near the top by his shoulders. Afterwards Zalashji breathed a fine mist on the cuts; it was different from the foul smelling one. It made the fresh cuts burn like fire and Foster yelled out. "Now you're marked as mine," Zalashji said as he picked the still screaming man in his coils and showed off the trident he had burnt into his flesh.


	38. Chapter 38

**Chapter Thirty-Eight– **_Nahoan Suntouched, Age 20_

It had been two days since his squad's late night rendezvous with the Ranger-General, and Nahoan was growing restless, they had yet to return. After being told what to do for so long he was having a hard time filling up his days. He even missed the warmth of the others in the bed at nighttime; he would take Helios's loud snoring over the emptiness. After two days of brooding he decided explore more of Eversong forest. With trolls to the southeast he rode Rook to the west. Feeling a little guilty of his motive, he had heard talks of a port and was curious if he was able to bypass the land route could he escape his gilded cage? It wasn't until night was falling and he reached the small town of Fairbreeze Village that he wondered what Halduron would think if he returned to the Retreat and saw him missing. Hopefully the alarm wouldn't go out; they had granted him more freedom. He paid the stable master in the village to watch over Rook for the night and found a room at the inn for his own needs.

The next day, after a quick breakfast and promise that the Sunsail Anchorage was just a short ways down the road to the west, he set off to follow his plan through. Rook cantered easily under him, enjoying the riding her master had given her these past few days. As a Ranger they spent most of their time afoot, able to hide better in the shadows that way than on the back of a mount. As the small port came into view he pondered what to do with Rook, if the bracer's powers activated and Rook was on the boat with him that would leave his horse sailing off to unknown places.

He decided to pay a small stable there at the port to watch his horse, if the bracer activated he could come back for her and if it didn't … he left a note with the stable master so she could be brought to the Farstriders if he didn't return in a week. After that was settled he looked through the boats docked to figure out which one would be suited for his needs. There was a rickety looking one that was swarming with stout green-skinned creatures. He had heard talk of goblins but this was his first time of actually seeing one. They were famed for their wheeling and dealing and he smiled, perfect. He approached one of them and asked to speak to their captain; he was surprised to find himself directed to a female goblin. She called herself Captain Rossa Waterfeet.

She eyed him as he approached. He was wearing casual clothing, which meant tight leather pants and white cotton shirt that he had unbutton the top buttons. He still carried his quiver and bow over his shoulder. "Hail Captain Rossa!" he said approaching. He bowed slightly. "I was curious where you were headed once you set sail?"

"We're headed back to Strangethorn," she replied. "What is it to you?"

"That's far south isn't it?" he asked, trying to recall his grade-school learning.

"My you're cute and smart," Rossa replied with a smirk.

"Two of many assets," Nahoan said with a smile. "I was wondering if I might be able to buy passage on your vessel."

"This ain't no pleasure cruise," she snapped. "I don't have room for loafers no matter how delicious they look!"

Taking out his purse he poured a handful of gold coins into his palm, watching the goblin's eyes light up. "I have a strong back," he said, "I'm not afraid of work if needed."

The goblin captain held out her hand and he dropped ten gold coins into it. "But how much work have you done on your back?" she asked. Nahoan stared at her confused for a moment. The meaning of her words soaked in and he felt his cheeks flush. She waved off his stuttered reply with a laugh. "Get aboard we'll be leaving shortly. Do try to stay out of our way, lover boy."

Bowing his thanks he walked up the gangplank. The other goblins glanced his way but with a shrug of their shoulders went about their business. Finding a quiet stack of crates he settled on them to wait. Then he noticed one of the boxes marked "Explosive" and decided to move.

The goblin crew was expert seamen and soon they were underway. Nahoan leaned on the railing as it followed the shoreline of Eversong. "Please work," he whispered. "Let me live my life on my own terms." The boat approached where Elrendar River emptied into the Great Sea. His fingers tightened around the railing as if he could hold himself to the vessel. The boat slipped by the river and he let out the breath he'd been holding only to experience the sensation of falling. Landing with a slash, he sighed. "I had to try," he thought to himself as he climbed out of the fountain. A couple of passing High Elves gave him a curious look, but most ignored his sudden arrival. Emptying his boots he started toward his elven home. He would have to secure a change of clothing before he returned to Sunsail Anchorage for Rook.

One of his father's servants answered his knock and welcomed him home, chastising him for arriving without notice. "Your father is at the winery I shall send someone to fetch him," she said.

"No, please, don't interrupt him," he said. "I'm just here for a few minutes."

This got him a nod from the servant as he hurried up to his room. He quickly changed his clothes and was running down the stairs when Adare walked in the front door. Their eyes met and the stable master's eyes darkened. "Master Nahoan," he said coolly, "I didn't see your horse out front. I was unaware of your visit."

"Rook isn't here," Nahoan said. "Nor will I be, in another thirty seconds. I just needed to stop by for a quick change of clothes."

"Change …" Adare eyed him, his hair still damp from the tumble. "Again? Do you want them to revoke the freedom they gave you?"

"Please go about your duties, Adare," Nahoan said. "I won't keep you."

Escaping the house, Nahoan started a light jog toward the wall that surrounded Silvermoon. He had hoped to borrow one of his father's Hawkstriders but didn't want to deal with Adare. He would just run it, use it as a mini training session. By the time he reached the Anchorage it was evening and his clothes clung to his sweat soaked body. After settling with the stables he mounted Rook and aimed her toward the Retreat. Traveling at night wasn't ideal but he knew if his squad had returned today or even worse yesterday he was already in trouble for not being there and the longer he was away the worse the chastisement when he arrived.

They sky was just starting to lighten when he came to Elrendar Falls. "Almost there, girl," he said patting the neck of Rook. A short time later he slid off her back in front of the stables. A sleepy looking hand ran out to take the reins from him, he tried to brush him aside saying he would take care of his mount but the boy said, "Sir, they've been up looking for you all night … you should head inside."

"Fuck," Nahoan whispered as he jogged toward the common house. He was exhausted; he didn't want to deal with this. Finding the gathering room empty he made his way up to their room. Taking a calming breath he opened the door. Solanna looked up from where she was sitting on the bed propped up on pillows. White bandages wrapped around her chest. "What happened?" he said alarmed. Glancing around the room, "where are the others… are they okay?"

"A troll got lucky," she said with a shrug. "But lucky for me, he was a bad shot. Captain Brightwing dressed it for me. We sent for a priest, I thought you might have been them. The others are looking for you. Go to the balcony and do the 'all clear' whistle until you hear them answer."

"Why are they looking for me?" Nahoan asked as he walked over to the open terrace and let out three shrill whistles in short succession followed by a longer forth. "It is not like I can go anywhere," he said, it came out more bitterly than he meant it too. He did a second whistle call.

"We were worried about you," Solanna said. "Do we treat you so badly? Why are you so ready to abandon your people?"

"The squad has never treated me anything but fairly and I do appreciate that," Nahoan said. "But I have loved ones that miss me beyond the gates of Quel'Thalas. And a brother who last I saw was in the hands of bandits."

"And what would you do if allowed to return?" Solanna asked. "What if you found your family gone and your brother dead? Would you seek vengeance against the bandits, my brother? He who won't kill a troll … though one almost killed me today, I wonder if you would have taken their life to save mine."

"My brother isn't dead," Nahoan said sharply as he let out another whistle. This time he heard a faint one in return. "If it was within my powers I would have done what I needed to prevent your injuries, Solanna."

"Sister," she said. "We call one another sister and brother here … yet those are more words we can not pull from your lips."

The appearance of a young priest gave him a welcomed reprieve. He went to excuse himself Solanna shook her head and pointed to a nearby chair. "Sit your ass down and wait for the rest of them," she said. "You're not leaving my sights."

The fatigue of his marathon running in the first part of the day and the horseback riding all night had him fast asleep moments after he sat down in the plush chair. The noisy arrival of his squad woke him up. For the first time since he joined their ranks their gaze was frosty when they saw him there. As they stripped out of their battle armor Captain Brightwing asked him, "Where have you been?"

"I grew restless, so went exploring the forest of my people yesterday. I took some wrong turns but rode all night to return. I'm sorry I caused you worry. I didn't think I would be missed."

"While you were frolicking through the forest we were ambushed by Shadowpine Trolls on the way back from our mission. The very same trolls your arrows never seem to hit true." Halduron's eyes darkened and Nahoan shamefully looked away. "We've been up for three days straight. Ranger Suntouched take our armor and weapons down to the armory, and clean them yourself. Any damage is to be repaired by the blacksmiths and fletchers. Only after you have it in top-notch shape may you join us in bed. I've asked and received permission for a day off for the squad."

"Yes, Sir," Nahoan said standing, his tired body protesting. He glanced over at the bed, Solanna had fallen asleep, her bandages had been removed by the priest and you couldn't see where her wound had been. Swiftwind crawled into bed with her, wrapping an arm around the other sleeping woman's belly. Helios took his spot behind Swiftwind spooning her to him. Halduron would take his customary spot on the other side of Solanna; had Nahoan been joining them, his place would have been between the two women. Gathering the armor scattered about the room quickly but quietly he piled it into a basket. Setting it outside the room he came back and shouldered the four quivers and bows and slipped out shutting the door behind him.

It was almost noon before he finished his assigned task. Washing the blood from Solanna's armor had been the hardest part, her anger toward him felt justified. Afterwards a skilled blacksmith had patched the hole in the tunic. Taking the clothing back up to the room he left the neatly folded piles of armor outside in the hall. On top of each were a freshly strung bow and a full quiver. With a look of yearning toward the door he turned his back on it, went downstairs and out to the archery field. He spent the next couple hours firing arrows into targets. Finally exhausted beyond thinking he settled down under a shady tree and closed his eyes.

When he awoke he found a blanket had been laid over him and his head resting in Solanna's lap. Around them lounged the rest of the squad, it was once again dark outside. "The baby has awakened," Solanna said running a hand down his cheek.

"About time," Helios said from where he was leaning against the tree.

"I told you to join us in bed after you were done," Halduron said.

Nahoan yawned. "You said I **may** join you, Sir" he said sitting up. His stomach growled; he tried to remember the last time he ate. "I didn't want to risk waking anyone."

"Going to have them make a second shackle and keep you chained to my side," Halduron said standing, "I swear it."

He offered his hand to Nahoan who took it and was pulled to his feet. "That would make it awful hard to pull a bowstring, Sir," Nahoan replied.

"Within my sights at all time Ranger Suntouched," Halduron ordered.

Nahoan frowned, that had been the command when he'd first joined. He had to be within Halduron viewing range at all times. He was losing ground. "Yes Sir," he replied with a sigh.


	39. Chapter 39

_**WARNING! – **__Only took me thirty-nine chapters but there is male/female sex scene in this chapter. _

**Chapter Thirty-Nine– **_Foster Conway, Age 23_

Using the chilled water Foster scrubbed himself clean. He was standing in a small wash basin, more suited for a dog than a human but that line had blurred long ago. Taking a nearby bucket he dumped the chilly water over his head, rinsing off the soap. Zalashji had asked for and received a washing station for his slaaf months ago. Foster made sure to voice his appreciation once more as he stepped out of the tub. Shaking the water from his hair, he grabbed one of the nearby rough towels. His hair was now almost as long as Nathaniel's had been. Pulling it back in ponytail he approached the naga who had been watching him silently.

"May I shave, Master Zalashji?" The naga nodded and a handed him a straight blade razor. As Foster reached for it the old scars across his wrists could be seen. Since then the naga kept the razor on his person and watched Foster very closely when he used it. Using a broken mirror Foster quickly shaved off the stubble, he thought it had only been a week since he had last shaven but the hair on his chin said otherwise. He sighed. "How long have we been here, Master?" he asked as he returned the razor.

The naga shrugged. "Not long," he said.

"Not long?" Foster said desperately. "It's been months! I've seen at least three seasons change. It looks to be spring again outside!"

"I forget how closely you humans watch the sand through the hourglass," Zalashji said. He twitched his massive tail. Foster saw the subtle change in his master's chest, as the muscles moved. Giving him enough of a warning to easily jump over the tail and out of range.

"Joust Master Zalashji?" he asked in case he had misjudged the naga intent. If they were sparing he was allowed to strike back.

"Yes," the naga hissed, charging.

"Your scent," Foster said holding his hands up in front of him crossing them to add more support and cushion for the blow.

"Ah yes," the naga said, there was a rippling of muscles. Once again he read it correctly as the tail coiled around him and brought him closer. Foster closed his eyes as the mist sprayed down on him. After all these times he had lost the ability to pick up the odor he knew was there but the slimy residue was still repulsive. The sound of a door opening warned them of visitors and Foster found himself sat down on the nest. Pulling the blanket over his nakedness the two prisoners waited. Zalashji picked up the scent first and chuckled, barking. "Your mate brings us our meal."

Foster hurried over to the bars, letting the blanket fall. After all these months of being naked in captivity the covering was more for the sake of others than his. Nignath appeared with two trays, she smiled at him and he returned it. Ever since Gilbert had bought her from Arthur those months ago, her coming and goings from his prison had offered him his one and only bright spot in this hell. She set the trays down and approached the cell. Holding her arms through the bars she said, "Please, Master Zalashji, so I my scent is not left behind."

The naga nodded and blew the fine mist over her bare green arms. Only then did she reach over and stroke Foster's cheek. Her touch was the only one the naga permitted besides his own, a reward for both of them. For her saving Foster's life those dark days ago when he had run out of hope and strength to continue.

"Master they are going to call on you tonight," she said bending down and picking up the tray which she held close to the bars. "I did not bring you food as you've requested." Foster reached through the bars and took off the sandwich and drink on the tray. After setting them down he took the dried fruit and smoked bacon off the other. These he brought over to Zalashji who nodded over to a crate nearby. Foster added them to their stash.

"Do they grow suspicious of our Master's menu?" Foster asked sitting down next to the bars. Nignath did the same on the other side so they could be close.

"As long as he keeps winning, he could ask for pink cake and get it." She replied with a laugh.

"This will be my last bout for awhile," Zalashji said surprising them both.

"Master," Foster said between bites. "That sadly isn't something you get to decide."

"In this case it is the truth," the naga said as his tail wrapped around Foster and pulled him away. They both knew better than to argue.

Nignath stood and collected the trays. "Thank you again for your mark, Master," she said gesturing to the trident burnt on the back of her hand "It has made my work load very easy for me. They don't wish to anger you."

"I couldn't care less about you orc wench," the naga hissed. "However, your presence has a calming influence on my slaaf so you are tolerated."

"Be strong, brother," she said in orcish.

"For you," Foster replied in the same. His half-eaten sandwich was snatched from his hand by the naga and he was tossed aside.

"Ready yourself," Zalashji said charging.

They dueled for over an hour; Foster had gotten quite good at defending himself against the attacks of the naga. He still had very little luck when it came to offensive moves. The scales were natural armor and if Zalashji had a weak point, he was not willing to expose it. Stomping on the tip of his tail did seem to hurt the naga, but not enough to incapacitate him and it made him furious. There was nothing quite as forbidding as being in a locked cage with an angry naga. Foster made sure to leave the tail alone. After their match Foster was pulled into a scaly embrace as Zalashji's cold blood desired the feel of his warmth. The naga ran his talons through Foster's ponytail as they rested.

Foster absently ran his hand over the scales, something he had done a hundred times before. However, this time it felt different and he frowned. The scales usually felt cool and smooth. Today they felt almost dry and brittle; he frowned as he rubbed the scales against their grain. This got his ponytail a tug, taking it as a warning he settled and closed his eyes and dreamt. It was a familiar vision; he was in the duel cage bound by the collar Zalashji forced him to wear. The naga's latest victim stepped into the ring. At first the hulking body of the naga hid his opponent and then there was a shift and there standing before his master was his father. His sire's angry eyes found him cowering in the corner. "What are you doing?" his father would shout. "Where is your brother? You were suppose to protect them … shield them all!" Zalashji would charge and Foster would awake. The soft hissing from the naga told Foster he was sleeping still, which meant he must not have shouted out this time.

"Protect," Foster sighed. "I have failed you a thousand times Pa …"

That evening he wrapped the blanket around his lower half, his pants had been lost months ago and no one seemed anxious to replace them. Zalashji slid the collar around Foster's neck, leaving the chain hanging loose down his back. Ever since Jasper's foiled escape attempt, one which he paid for with his life, the naga had requested and received a restraint he used to keep Foster chained to the cage while he battled. Foster returned the favor by shackling the naga's massive arms behind him. Afterwards Zalashji picked him up with his tail and slithered out the opened door. Alongside there stood a dozen armed men, as Zalashji's fame grew so did the guards' numbers. As they passed by one of the guardsmen grabbed the corner of Foster's blanket and jerked it off tossing it back into the cage.

Foster shouted but since no one had actually touched him, the naga was unconcerned. "I hate going in there naked," he mumbled.

"Why?" Zalashji asked, "I do." Then he let out a barking laugh. "It is at my request, slaaf."

Foster's heart raced. What had he done? Ever since Nignath had returned to him he had been as passive as a kitten. Why was he being punished? The change in his blood pressure was noticed and more barking ensued. He noticed another change; there was no wild cheering coming from the barn they were approaching. When they entered there were only a dozen men inside.

Zalashji slithered into the cage and Foster saw a stake driven into the middle of the ground. It was this stake the naga fastened the end of his chain too, leaving him naked in the center of the confine as he glided over to the corner. The chain did not give him room to stand so he was forced to kneel. The men outside moved closer to the cage walls, there was an uneasy feeling in the air.

"All right," Gilbert said, drawing Foster's attention to the man. "At the request of my gladiator we have a special treat for you few. A private viewing I'm sure will leave you in the mood to go home and fuck your mistress or maybe even your wife." The door to the cage opened again and Nignath was pushed inside, completely naked. Her nakedness got whistles and leers from the men gathered. Ignoring them she walked over to the naga in the corner and held out her arms. As the mist coated her she turned around slowly.

"Keep this up and I'll spray you too whore!" One of the men shouted.

Disregarding the shouting she walked over and knelt in front of Foster. He was confused and fearful for her. "Sister …"

She placed a finger over his lips silencing him. "Don't call me that tonight," she took down her hair and reached behind him and did the same. "I like your hair long," she said. She looked over his shoulder at Zalashji and Foster did the same.

"I'm giving you a chance to mate with the female," he hissed. "Her musk scent has been overwhelming these past couple of days. Either you take her now or I will it matters not to those that watch."

Foster met Nignath's gaze and she nodded. "I can't …" he whispered.

"I have been taken by countless men," she said, a tear falling down her cheek. "Yet the one I care for would deny me and let me be raped by a snake?"

"No!" Foster said quickly. His hands were free so he was able to brush the tear away. He looked around the room if there was a musk scent in the air it wasn't only coming from the woman kneeling in front of him. "I can't … not in front of them…"

"Only me," she said cupping his face with her hands. "There is only me … block them from your mind like I have."

"I've never …" for all the trash talk he'd endured the past year he'd never been with anyone … male, female or naga.

Realization came to her eyes. "I understand," she said sadly standing. As she stepped toward the naga he grabbed her wrist.

"Show me," he said.

Nignath knelt down in front of him. "Only me," she whispered as she took his hand and placed his trembling fingers against her cheek.

His world did indeed shrink down to the female in front of him. "Only you," he answered, leaning as far forward as the chain allowed, resting his forehead against hers. Her lips pressed against his, he could feel the pressure of her tusks against his cheeks. Something moist and soft pressed against his lips and he gasped. As he did her tongue slipped inside his mouth. Her hand moved behind his neck holding him in place as she kissed him. He placed a hand behind her head mimicking as he tasted the spices in the kiss. Their spectators were not in the mood for tenderness and their shouts became more vulgar.

"Forgive me," Nignath whispered as she broke the kiss. "I would love to show you the proper way to make love, but that won't be allowed." She gently pushed him back, but kept his legs pinned beneath. Putting his arms behind him he tried to stop the decent, but the pressure continued until he was painfully arched back, his shoulders flat against the ground. To his humiliation his desire was evident to all who was watching. He struggled to pull his legs out from under him to relieve the ache but Nignath knelt down, placing a hand on either thigh keeping him pinned. As he was about to voice his distress, her mouth closed around his heated flesh and all else was forgotten. There was nothing he had experienced before he could compare to the pleasure rippling up his body from his core. As her tongue expertly massaged him, he felt the warmth of her magic enter him, enhancing the touch. His hands reached down and grasped her wrists as his body started matching her ancient rhythm. He had heard of other men giving themselves pleasure with their hands but he had never, he wanted to save that for Beth … the thought of his old flame interrupted the passionate moment but Nignath was too far gone to notice.

Her warm mouth left him and she blew on his throbbing flesh, chilling it. Then she gently pulled his legs out letting him stretch out flat on the ground. Still kneeling she moved so she straddled his waist. He had a feeling there was something more and moaned as she gripped his cock and settled herself down on it. It was another new wonderful experience for him. She took his hands and placed them on her emerald breasts, he massaged them and she bent down so the hard nipple brushed against his lips. Opening his mouth he ran a tongue around it and was reward by a moan from Nignath. Closing his teeth around the nub he pulled on it gently and the orc above him trembled. She continued to move her ass up and down slowly riding him. Behind her bent over frame Foster saw a man approach, his own red throbbing cock in his hand. With a couple of quick jerks something white spurted out and splattered down Nignath's back.

Foster felt his rage building and suddenly Nignath's mouth was on his, her tusks leaving bloody trails along his cheeks as she kissed him. At the same moment she released the spell she had cast on him to slow down his climax and his body jerked as his mouth opened in a soundless scream. Never had he felt such a release. Afterwards he laid trembling underneath her, his body covered by hers as other men sprayed their own passion over them.

"Thank you," she whispered in orcish, as she was jerked away from him.

"All right," Gilbert said, "hope that was worth the price of admission, the whore will be chained up outside for those that want to pay to have their own cock washed."

"No!" Foster shouted. The chain around his neck went taut as he was released from the stake by Zalashji and secured in the corner. The naga sprayed Foster with the mist, in attempt to erase the odor of Nignath and the men.

"Thank me, slaaf," he hissed.

Foster watched as three men walked outside. "Please," he whispered. "Save her."

Sharp talons closed down on his chin and the serpent tongue licked the blood from the cuts left behind by Nignath's tusks. "Thank me, slaaf…"

"Thank you, Master Zalashji," he said softly.

The naga patted him on the top of the head. "I assume there is more planned?" he asked Gilbert.

"Oh yeah," was the reply. "The main event will start shortly!"


	40. Chapter 40

**Chapter Forty – **_Thomas Conway, Age 46_

Thomas watched as Sara worked her way behind him, scattering the seeds which would become this year's harvest. Her long curly hair tied back by a handkerchief to keep it off her face as she worked. The first couple months after the loss of his sons had been tough but his wife and daughters quickly stepped in to fill the hole, at least when it came to the fields and chores. Behind Sara came his lovely wife Norah raking the dirt over the kernels. She looked up and caught his gaze on her. She was still as beautiful to him now as she was twenty-five years ago when he asked her to marry him. He smiled and she returned it.

"Not time for a break, dear one," she said. "We still need to finish this field."

Sara stood up and stretched. "Yeah, we have to beat York and Grant!" The two men were doing the same in the west field. Wendy and Rosemary were back at the homestead, watching over his grandchildren: Lucy and the newest arrival eight-month old Nate, named after his uncle. The thought of either of his sons was like a hot-poker to the heart and he quickly looked away from the women and brought his hoe down into the earth. If they just knew what happened, there could be closure and they could move on. As it was they were left in a permanent what-if state.

As he toiled he couldn't help but think of Foster and Nathaniel. Wishing now he had done something different that night, almost a year ago now. The boys had known the land he had been so sure they would just hideout until elves grew bored and disappeared for another ten years. And then the days turned to weeks without notice and two months after they had vanished he had found Knight grazing with the horses, still in his tack. The leather showing extensive sun damage and the stallion had sores from being left under the saddle for too long. Then there was Nathaniel's ring tied to the saddle horn, what did that mean? His son would never go without his ring … which meant … Thomas sighed. As he had done those many years ago the ring was now once again on a chain around his neck. This time there was no crying infant which would draw comfort from it. Finishing the final row he sat the hoe down and went to take the rake from his wife.

"Don't look so gloomy, my husband," she said letting him take it. "Focus on the love we have now and those that need you. I know where your mind wanders; it goes down the same paths as mine. We can do nothing for our sons. If they are with the Light then we will see them again, someday. We must concern ourselves with those that still need us here."

"I know, beloved," he said kissing her. "They don't haunt me as often as they used to, just once in awhile there is a word or a memory that reminds me. I will be fine. I'll love on my grandbabies when we get home."

The rest of the field work went quickly and soon the three of them headed over to the west field, where they were met by York and Grant who had also finished. Sara and York engaged in good nature ribbing as to who had finished the planting first. The group walked back to the homestead and was greeted enthusiastically by Wags the Third. Who was just as big as his grand-sire. After the litter of dogs from the cave had passed on from old age, Norah had insisted on downsizing the pack. So they were down to Wags who slept outside the barn like those before him and Buttercup, York and Wendy's dog.

Patting the giant behemoth of a canine on the head, the women headed off to shower while the men went to the barn to take care of the animals. Thomas was dumping slop into the trough for the pigs, Lucy ran up. "Grandpa, look!" She shouted running up to him.

He still marveled at being a grandfather, this was the reason he had started working these lands, to leave behind a legacy for his children and their children. She held out her hands and he knelt down, as she opened them he saw two ladybugs crawling on her palms. He smiled. "Make sure you let them go near, Grandma's roses," he said.

"I will," Lucy promised as she raced off to show her father.

That night as the family gathered for the evening meal, Wendy mentioned a letter had arrived from Jenna earlier, which was always welcomed news. Thomas took the correspondence, opened it and read it aloud.

_Dear Everyone,_

_Hope this letter finds everyone in good health and spirit. I think of you often when I walk past the fields of Elwynn Forest, it helps me still feel connected with you all. I completed my priestess training and have taken up a small practice in the town of Goldshire. Last time I wrote I spoke of returning home after my education but I've met a man…"_

He was interrupted by the women at the table exclamations. Thomas smiled and waited for them to calm down before continuing.

_I've met man, his name is Argus, he's a blacksmith and almost as good as Henry. He's a good man; I think you would like him Pa. I hope one day you'll get to meet him. Don't worry, we're taking it slow. We've only kissed once or maybe twice._

Once again Thomas's letter reading was interrupted by the females around him. "Should I wait until after dinner?" he asked with a smirk.

"Oh you better not," Sara said, "it's just getting good!"

_I won't bore you with the details, but thought I should let you know why I won't return like I promised. How is teaching going, big sis? Hopefully there aren't too many students that take after our brothers. Still surprised they managed to make it all the way though their schooling. Speaking of bothers, have the two of you found women to make honest yet?_

Thomas stopped reading, the table had fallen quiet. "We should have written her months ago," he said.

"It wouldn't do her any good," Norah replied. "She doesn't need to know, yet."

"She'll know when Bethany shows up to join her as a priestess," Sara said. "She left last week."

"Can't believe she's given up," Wendy said softly.

"It's been a year," Sara replied. "In her words, she's not getting any younger. But what will our sister think when she finds out …"

"I sent a letter with Bethany," Thomas said. "That explains everything to her. It was the best I could do."

"Is there more?" Norah asked gesturing at the letter.

Nodding he went to read when there was a knock on the door. The table looked at one another curiously and Norah shrugged, they weren't expecting company. Thomas stood and opened the door, standing there was a stranger. It was a balding man, in ragged clothes, Thomas first thought was a beggar looking for a handout.

"Are you hungry, sir?" he asked, "we don't have much but sure we can find something to fill your belly."

"Starving, sir," the man replied, "but I'm curious have I found the Conway residents?"

Thomas frowned and nodded slightly. "That you have, what brings you to my door, stranger?"

"Your son, sir," the man replied, "Foster."

There were gasps behind him and Thomas raised his hand toward his family. "What do you know about my boy, Mister?"

"It would be a story I could tell better with a full belly and something to drink," the man said looking hopeful. "I've been on the move for months now, trying to find his family. Didn't have much to go on, he wasn't one to speak much about it. Knew his family name and that he grew up in these parts. Got lucky in the town a ways back, some men there pointed me this way."

Norah appeared at his side and offered the man a cold beef sandwich and a glass of ale. Thomas gestured to the bench on the porch. "Eat," he said, "then we'll talk. I'll be right back." As the visitor sat down and greedily started devouring his meal, Thomas shut the door and walked Norah back over to the table. "No one get your hopes up," he said.

"Too late," Norah replied with a small smile, "I have to hope, it's all I have left when it comes to the boys."

"There is a chance he just overheard one of our neighbors talking," Thomas said, "and wants to take advantage of the situation."

"Only our closest friends know the true reason the boys are gone," Sara said, "most think they joined the military."

"Yeah but even they may have mentioned something in passing," he said, "just please I want to speak to him alone. I'm afraid he's just after money."

Norah patted his hand and nodded. "All right, my husband, we will leave it in your very capable hands."

Thomas kissed her and stepped out onto the porch; the stranger had finished his sandwich and was gulping down the last of his ale. "All right, Mister," Thomas said folding his arms across his chest. "You've had your food and your drink, now tell me where my son is."

"Arathi Highlands," the man said rubbing a dirty sleeve across his mouth.

The Highlands were far to the south, Thomas frowned. "And what exactly is my son doing in the Arathi Highlands?"

"Right this moment?" the man said with a smirk. "He's a naga's slut."

Thomas grabbed the man by his filthy shirt and slammed him hard against the wall. He heard shouts from within. "Don't hurt me!" the man all but squeaked.

"The only reason you're still breathing is because you may or may not have information about my child," Thomas said darkly. "I would ask just for the facts of my son's fate and leave the color commentary out of it."

"I can see where Foster gets his potency from," the man said, "like father like son. Before I tell you any more, your son once spoke of a reward for his return …"

Thomas slapped the man hard. "How dare you ransom knowledge of my son for gold!" as he drew back his hand again Norah appeared and grabbed his wrist.

"Let him go," she said. Thomas glared at his wife and she returned the look unflinching. "Let him go," she repeated, "we can't find our son without him."

He shoved the man away. "He's lying through his teeth," Thomas said, "He knows nothing. Get the hell off my property and go play your sick games with someone else!"

"I ain't lying!" the man said, "your boy didn't speak much about your family except for one … a brother. That damn man fretted like a lost lover about the fact those elves took his brother away."

Norah reached into her dress and tossed a small purse toward the man. "That has ten gold coins in it," she said. "You bring our boy home and we'll play you a hundred times that amount."

"Oh no, ma'am," the man said shaking his head. "I ain't going against Gilbert and his men. I'll tell you what I know but it will be up to you to get Foster back if you can."

"Then by the Light," Thomas growled, "Speak and speak quickly … start with your name."

"Percy Peebles, sir … up to about six months ago I worked for a man named Arthur Burton. It was he who bought your boy from those bandits."

"Bought?" Thomas said, "My son is a free man."

"Yeah," Percy said with a shrug, "he said that a lot those first days too. But like Mr. Burton said, free men don't get sold. Your boy was a good worker, knew his way around the farm like he was raised to do so. Was more or less mindful too, just an occasional attitude adjustment needed …" the man rambled seemly forgetting who he was speaking to.

Norah gripped her enraged husband's arm and shook her head. "Now is not the time, let him talk," she whispered.

"Anyhow, the men there in the Highlands … most of them are noble born and well they get bored easily. I don't know when the cage matches started. Orcs not only make decent field hands they are brutal in the arena. Mr. Burton had a couple he was using when we acquired Foster. The first match we sent Foster in, he decimated that green-skin, after that it was only Foster we brought. That boy made the boss a killing at first, but then the other owners realized what Mr. Burton had and were reluctant to pit their orcs against him. So his challengers became more grueling as time went on. Then Mr. Burton put him in a cage with a naga, half-snake, half-dragon beast. Your boy didn't stand a chance, he was defeated pretty quickly, his first and last loss in the ring. The naga wouldn't let us claim him and in the end kept him as a who …" the man looked over at Norah, "as a pet of sorts."

"Mr. Burton's boy, Jasper, tried to free Foster once. The naga threw this bone spike at him, right between the eyes, killed him dead." Percy shrugged, "after that to pay off gambling debts he had to sell our orc wench to Gilbert and eventually the farm, which was about six months ago now. I was out of work and your son's words of a family came back to me. No man deserves to be locked away like your boy is; I thought I could do right and bring news to you."

"You'll do more than that," Thomas said. "You're going to take me to my boy."


	41. Chapter 41

**Chapter Forty-One – **_Nahoan Suntouched, Age 21_

Watching the trolls from above Nahoan kept himself hidden behind the branches of a tree. Captain Brightwing was right there was something definitely amiss at Tor'Watha. Unless the Shadowpine Trolls had started mating like rabbits these past months, they were gathering. There were mountains to the north and south of the troll fort and the Forbidding Sea to the east, which left the western path for them to take should they attack Silvermoon. Lying smack dab in the middle of that route was the Farstrider Retreat. Nahoan counted the scouting party, six … four hunters, another carrying a long deadly looking spear and shield, the final one he guessed to be a shaman by the charms attached to her robe. They were making their way through the forest, approaching the East Sanctum.

The six trolls wouldn't have been a problem for his squad, had he been with them and not out hunting on his own. He had caught wind of the invaders while trailing a doe and decided to see what they were up to and report back to his Captain. At least then he would be useful to the Farstrider. As the clashes with trolls intensified these past months his noticeable lack of resolve was becoming a thorn in his squad's functionality. Nahoan knew his time with the group of elves he considered his friends was drawing to an end. For all their training, encouragement and frustration he couldn't conquer his vice about taking another's life. Halduron had put him on probation for the final time after the last mission and his arrow had failed to strike true. It was only a matter of time now before the Ranger-General made it official and sent him back to his father.

Brix Suntouched would welcome his son and surely teach him all there was to know about the art of making wine. What little of the Sunwell he had embraced this past year would be lost under that lifestyle. Keeping up silently with the trolls he took the bow from his shoulder. He could easily pick off two of the hunters before they pinpointed his location, with two dead comrades they may even flee without countering. He brought an arrow up to sight and focused on the closest troll, a male with bright red hair and giant tusks on either side of his mouth. It was an easy shot, the troll would die instantly, never knowing what hit him. Just then his mark let out a hearty chuckle laughing at something his companion had said. They laugh, they cry, they live just as he does. The white and red banners of the Eastern Sanctum came into view; the troll party adjusted their gate slightly moving more methodically.

Lying three arrows across the bowstring and holding his weapon horizontally he drew back, and after adjusting the arrows slightly with his fingertips he let go. They flew true, one catching the hunter he had in sights earlier in the shoulder, the others struck the back and side of two more trolls. They let out cries and Nahoan saw one of the hunters motion toward his hiding spot. He was already moving when arrows struck the tree where he had been. Dropping to the ground he began to run, the sound of the trolls close behind.

"Well that was part one of my brilliant plan," he thought to himself. "Now would be a good time to come up with part two." He led them away from the Sanctum and back toward the river. It was also toward Tor'Watha which became painfully evident when he stumbled across a second troll scouting party. They were startled providing him a moment to spin in a different direction and keep running. The trolls giving chase were shouting in excitement. It wasn't often a High Elf was foolish enough to be caught alone in the woods.

Something hot exploded his shoulder and he looked down to see an arrowhead sticking out. It wasn't a fatal blow, there was no doubt in his mind they would prefer a live prisoner to torture and then probably eat. A burning sensation exploded from the injury, not having been shot before he couldn't say that it wasn't normal but it sure didn't feel like _just_ an arrow wound. He was wondering about poison when he felt his arm grow numb.

"Of course," he mumbled.

At that moment he heard the song of a goldfinch, which was echoed by tree swallow and finally a nightingale. At the same time he came up to the river and ran out of shelter. He turned around holding his useless arm as the trolls spread out around him; there were a dozen of them. The shaman approached. "It burns don't it mon?" she said. "The chill it be creeping up your body, goin' to reach your head soon. You come with us, mon, there be an antidote back at my hut." Taking a step back his boot got wet from the river. "You can't swim like that, mon," she said, "you sink like a rock."

Suddenly there was a shrill whistle. It startled the trolls and sent a message to the elf, find cover … now! There was only one option and he dove into the river. As he hit the water he heard the sound of arrows flying and the angry shouts from the trolls. His left side useless he used his legs to propel himself across the water. To most elves across the river led to Blackened Woods, but for him it was Silvermoon if he could make it. There he could find care and the Farstriders wouldn't have to worry, if they still possessed the patience to do so. He was almost to shore when a strong arm wrapped around him from behind. "I got you, Baby," Ranger Helios said as he brought them to the riverbank.

"No you don't," Nahoan said as his feet touched the ground for a moment and then he was falling. He landed with a splash in the Court of the Sun's fountain. He laid there for a moment his shoulder aching something fierce. Afterwards he struggled out of the fountain; a nearby bench was as far as he could make it. Sitting down he reached back and grabbed the shaft of the arrow and pushed it forward, grunting as the rest of the arrowhead broke through his chest. He heard someone scream but it sounded far away as his vision started to blur.

"Nahoan …" he ignored the familiar voice as he took out a dagger and went to cut the arrowhead off. If he could just get it off, he could pull the arrow out. "Nathaniel!" That caused him to pause, that was a name he hadn't heard in a while. Blinking he looked over at the woman kneeling in front of him.

"Ma?" he whispered confused as the poison worked its way through his body.

"No, child," the woman said taking the dagger from him and making quick work of the arrowhead. "Priestess Belestra, do you remember me? You, Guardian, hold him … grip him tight." A strong arm wrapped around him from behind pinning him to the bench, before he could ask why Belestra pulled the arrow out and he screamed.

She placed her hands on either side of his shoulder. "I've stopped the bleeding, please help me take him to the Spire, the poison is spreading we'll have to work quickly if we want to save him."

"How did he end up here with a troll arrow in him?" A man asked, "Are we under attack?"

"Stop with your foolishness," Belestra snapped back, "he's a Farstrider this is what they do every day so you can sit safe within the walls. And because of them you have nothing to worry about … now help me, damn it."

He wanted to tell her it was going to be okay, he wasn't scared of dying. Nahoan was just tired of causing people to fret … he bet Ma was worried something fierce. Forcing himself to stay conscious he was carried up the steps of the Spire and into the priest training quarters. There he was laid out on a table, his armor quickly removed. He gasped for breath; his lungs seemed unable to draw air in.

"It's reaching his vital organs," Belestra said, "We need to purge it now." Through fading sight he saw elves surround the table, each laid a hand on him. "This is going to hurt. I'm sorry Nahoan, but we have to move quickly."

He screamed as his body seemed to explode, they drew the poison straight out of him, it seeped from his pores. His skin felt like it was burning with a thousand fire ants feasting on him. "I know … I'm sorry, be strong," Belestra said.

"Teacher, how can there be so much venom from a tiny arrow?" a man asked.

"It's in his bloodstream we have to eliminate the corrupt blood," Belestra replied. "Careful, no one touch the secretion."

"We're removing too much blood," someone said, Nahoan wished he could focus more but it was so hard.

"Stay with us, Nahoan," Belestra ordered. "We can replace the blood after we've finished the cleansing."

"His heart is weakening."

Over Belestra he saw his father standing, the one he left back in Darrowmere Forest. He reached toward him. "Pa …"

"Be strong, my son," the wraith whispered. "Your family needs you." Their hands touched and darkness took him.

Shouting awoke him. He was as weak as a newborn and it took an effort to make his eyelids open. He was lying in a dark room, on a soft bed. There was a door open and in the light he saw Belestra and Halduron arguing.

"You are not taking him," she was saying. "He needs rest."

"He can rest at the Retreat," his commander replied, "in the arms of those who have watched his ass these past months."

"And you did such a lovely job," Belestra replied coolly.

"We can't keep him imprisoned his entire life," Halduron shot back. "He has a spirit which needs to be free."

"Sir," Nahoan said drawing their attention to him.

"Ranger Suntouched," Halduron said walking over. "You gave us quite a scare, how are you feeling?'

'Pathetic," Nahoan replied. "I saw a scouting party of trolls headed to the East Sanctum. Their intent looked to be more than just reconnaissance so I attacked them to draw them away."

"Ranger Hawkspear's squad had been trailing them as well," Halduron replied. "I'm surprised you didn't see that. Though, they didn't see you either … you gave them quite the surprise when you struck. They had been waiting for backup; thank the Sunwell we and Sungaze's unit were close to lend a hand."

"So it was all for naught," he said softly, turning away, "figures."

"He stays," Belestra said again.

"Then so do we," Halduron replied letting out a nightingale call. Nahoan watched as his squad entered. Swiftwind and Solanna hurried over to him, after reassuring touches and friendly kisses they slid out of their clothing and into their customary places in bed. With Solanna spooning him from behind and Swiftwind curled up in front of him.

"A little smaller than back home," Helios said as he removed his clothing and climbed in behind Swiftwind, bending forward to kiss Nahoan on the forehead before laying an arm across the group. "Glad you're still with us, Baby."

"The bed isn't designed to hold so many," Belestra sighed.

"We'll make it work," Halduron said as he climbed into the bed behind Solanna, he too brushed his lips against Nahoan's cheek. "Sleep now, Ranger, your family is here." He laid an arm across the party.

All the doubts and fears he had moments ago left him, within the warm embrace of those that loved him. Wrapping his fingers around Solanna's he closed his eyes and did as his commander asked, he slept.


	42. Chapter 42

**Chapter Forty-Two – **_Foster Conway, Age 23_

"Two weeks!" Gilbert shouted. "There ain't no way in hell I'm giving you a two week vacation, lizard!"

"It will be anything but a holiday," Zalashji hissed. "And after those weeks I will be ready for battle and hungry so very hungry … you will not see a more ferocious fighter. Surely you can use that towards your advantage and pocketbook?"

Gilbert spit. "No slave tells me what to do …"

"I will kill any creature I see which isn't my slaaf during that time. Do not think these puny bars will prevent that." Zalashji said. "Go now and bar the outer door, should you open it before those weeks are done, there will be much death on your hands."

"What about your slut?" Gilbert said, gesturing toward where Foster sat on the nest. "Humans can't go that long without eating."

"And who is to say he will be here in two weeks," Zalashji said, followed by a barking laugh. "He can draw fresh water from the pump you so graciously added. He is no concern of yours"

"Ain't that the truth," Gilbert said with a shrug. "All right, lizard, you'll have your two weeks reprieve. But you best be ready to fight afterwards."

"Master," Foster said after Gilbert had left, "what now?"

The naga looked over at him; Foster noticed again how the once brilliant eyes were a dull bluish-white. "Now, I rest … you may eat from the stash and drink as you desire. Do not under any circumstances bathe these next weeks. My scent must remain on you. As the days pass I will become rather unpredictable and aggressive. You may use the skills I taught you to defend yourself. For your sake do not take my hostility as signal to joust with me. If you attack me even in jest you will die." The naga slid over to the nest and using his tail picked Foster up and moved him out.

"Sleep in your own nest for now," it hissed.

"My own?" Foster blinked, in the months he had been under the naga's care he had never slept anywhere but within serpent's coils. Zalashji motioned over to the large pile of hay that had been added to the cage.

"Make your nest," it hissed, "on the far side of the cage. It would be wise for you to be still and quiet now. Your reason for being here is almost upon us."

The days passed slowly for Foster. Zalashji spoke very little to him, leaving him hours to fill on his own. There were only so many push-ups and sit-ups he could do, though he did them until he was exhausted so he would sleep some of the time away. He rationed the small surplus of food they had squirreled away; some of it had spoiled. Zalashji had no interest in eating, leaving it all to him, what little there was. Hunger was his constant companion, he feared running out of rations. A week into their exile Zalashji started making a strange crying noise, startling Foster from slumber. Watching from his bed, he saw the naga was rubbing its snout up and down across the cave wall.

"Not ragged enough," the naga hissed. "Can't get it off!"

"Master?" Foster asked cautiously.

The naga's talons tore at his mouth, leaving behind bloody slashes. "Help me slaaf, get it off!"

Approaching the thrashing naga carefully, Foster tried to assess what was causing the pain. He noticed a layer of scales loose from the top fin. The naga was shedding and having difficulty getting rid of his old skin. Using his fingers Foster pulled down on the loose scales, it was hard to remove. He managed to get one large patch off, freeing the naga's left eye from its milky gaze. The eye underneath was now brilliant and enraged. He barely brought his arms up in time to block the attack. Dodging the next two blows he moved close grabbing another section of loose skin and tearing it away. After freeing the naga's muzzle and head from the dead scales he retreated back to his bed and watched.

The naga went back to scraping itself against the rock wall. It took Zalashji hours to fully remove his old skin. Afterwards he lay panting in the nest. "Water," he croaked.

Foster filled up a pail brought it over to the naga, pouring it slowly into the open mouth. He guzzled down the whole thing and asked for more. After it had drunk the second pail, Zalashji closed his eyes and seemed to be resting. Foster took this chance to feel the newly exposed scales. They were soft and vulnerable.

"Yes my armor has a chink in it," naga hissed startling him. "Are you going to act upon it, slaaf?"

"For what purpose?" he asked. "If I was to defeat you in your weakened state I'd still behind these iron bars and at the mercy of Gilbert. Best case scenario he would kill me, more than likely I'd take your place back in the ring using the skills you have taught me this past year. Under your protection, my life has been dull but not overly violent. I get to see my … Nignath almost daily."

Foster's hand continued to pet the scales, he liked the how smooth they felt. The other skin had become so dry and brittle. Zalashji nuzzled his neck and cheek seemly affectionately. "This is your purpose, my slaaf," he hissed. "To defend your master if needed while he is unprotected, though the humans seemed to have respected my wishes. Now I must sleep again, leave a bucket of water nearby me but do not attempt to refill it should I drink it. Cower in your bed unless you are needed. I will be regaining my strength these last few days and between resting I will hungry and irritable."

"Not a good combination," Foster agreed.

His food ran out two days before the iron door was unlocked. They sent Nignath down first. Zalashji looked up from where he was coiled on his nest but didn't move. Foster motioned her to the far end near him.

"My eyes are filled with joy, Brother," she said keeping herself an arm's distance back. "They spoke as if the master would devour you."

"Won't say that hasn't crossed his mind," Foster said. He had been unable to call her Sister since the night they shared. "Did you bring food?" he asked. "I haven't eaten in what feels likes days and didn't have much prior to it."

"I did not," she said looking down. "I was merely sent in to test the water. I will return to the kitchen and see if there are any scraps."

"How are you doing?" Foster asked.

"I am well, Brother," she replied. "The brand still protects me from their torment. As long as I do my tasks they leave me well enough alone."

"And what of the child?" Zalashji hissed as he sat up, stretching his full length.

"Child …" Foster asked, confused, "what child?" Nignath's hand moved to her belly and Foster's breath caught.

"She didn't tell you?" the naga barked out a hissing laugh. "She was in heat that night; of course the union produced a child."

"A child?" Foster pleaded with her silently that the naga was lying. "Here? Why … what will become of him?"

The naga let out a barking laugh. "He will sleep in his father's embrace and grow up to take your place as my slaaf."

"You alive, slut?" Gilbert shouted down.

"Yes sir," Nignath replied. In a lower voice she whispered, "Forgive me." She then turned and fled.

Gilbert passed her in the hall as he and half-dozen armed guards walked into the cell. Foster swore there was disappointment in the other's gaze when he saw he was still alive. "Enjoy your vacation?" Gilbert asked. "What the hell is that?"

Foster followed the gestured to the pile of scales. "Garbage," Zalashji said. "Make sure my pen is scrubbed tonight while I am in your dueling cage. It smells like my slaaf has been using the same straw for two weeks to defecate in. Please tell me you have matches set up; I'm in the mood for gizzards … oh and hearts … still beating."

"Aye, you sick lizard, you'll have a smorgasbord tonight … orcs, trolls, ogre … the main event will extraordinary. I assume you'll want to bathe like usual?"

"Of course and food for my slaaf, the poor thing is starting look more like skin and bones every day."

"Useless waste of flesh," Gilbert mumbled as he and his men departed.

Foster sighed and stood moving toward the naga. Without asking he climbed over the tail and settled into the coils, there was a ripple of muscles and scales and he found himself knocked hard out of the nest. "Master, please," Foster said. His head and heart still reeling from the thought of Nignath carrying his child, he needed the touch of another living thing even if it was cold-blooded and cover with scales.

"The warmth of your flesh, the beating of your heart, so living … succulent …" the naga's tongue slipped out of his mouth. Alarmed Foster retreated back to his private sleeping area and to his relief Zalashji didn't follow.

A short time later Nignath appeared with a tray of food. She set it down and stuck her arms through the bars. "Master, please …" the famished naga struck before she could finish but Foster was a moment faster. He knocked her arms away and took the brunt of the attack. Zalashji grabbed his ponytail and jerked it back hard, exposing his neck. Sharp teeth grazed against his beating pulse, as the cool tongue danced across his flesh. Foster went limp in the hold; it was beyond him now to free himself. All he could hope for was reason to return to the naga before the teeth closed.

"Stupid stupid stupid slaaf," Zalashji hissed as he continued to work his tongue up and down Foster's neck.

"You were going to hurt her," Foster said, "There was bloodlust in your movement."

"Your purpose is to defend me, slaaf," Zalashji said as he slowly pulled back. "Not my dinner."

"She's the mother of my child!" Foster said.

"Don't split your loyalties now, slaaf," the naga hissed. "You are expendable and I could raise your child from birth."

Foster knew better than to point out had he not interfered the child the naga spoke of would have been killed, instead he looked down and whispered, "Yes, Master."


	43. Chapter 43

**Chapter Forty-Three – **_Thomas Conway, Age 46_

"You don't have to do this," Thomas said.

"Sir, I've known your boys since they were babes, they are like brothers. If Foster has gotten into a fix he cannot get out of on his own, my sword and board are at your service." Carlin Redpath said. "I'm on leave from my duties at Stratholme if you gave me more time I could have a small force ready to go in a week."

"It could be dangerous," Thomas said as he attached a saddle bag to Granite. "I am hoping the man Percy speaks of can be reasoned with."

Percy chortled from the back of Knight. "Mr. Gilbert has an army, and besides it's the naga you would have to deal with."

"Shut up," Thomas snapped, "if I didn't need you to show me where my son was I would be done with you." He walked over to the porch where his family had gathered; even Janice had ridden in from town. "Grant, York, Sara I'm expecting you to watch over the fields while I'm away. Wendy, take good care of my grandbabies … and Lucy you be good for your momma."

"I will Grandpa!" Lucy said as he picked her up one handed and gave her a hug. Afterwards he went down the line hugging the females and shaking hands with the men. When he reached his beloved, he wiped a tear from her cheek.

"Please come back soon and with our son," she said. "I can't bear to lose you too."

"I will be back, with Foster," he said, "like you said all those years ago, I will protect our family." He kissed her then pouring all his passion into the touch. Afterwards he brushed another tear from her cheek and swung up onto his saddle. With a slight tip of his hat he followed Carlin and Percy down to the road.

They rode the horses hard, taking only minor breaks throughout the day. Carlin led them through the pass to the Hinterlands as night was falling. In the distances they could see the fire from the dwarven stronghold Aerie Peak. "Let us see if they will give us shelter for the night," Thomas said. "Riding our horses to the ground will do no good if we need to escape quickly."

As they rode up the gravel road Thomas could see a giant stone griffon carved into the mountain. They were stopped well shy of the statue by a couple of dwarves. "Well met, travelers," one said. "What brings you to the Wildhammer Clan?"

"We seek a place to rest … we are just passing through," Thomas replied.

"Your horses look as if they have been rode hard, are you fleeing something, lad?"

"No, sir, we're running to someone who is in dire need of our help," Thomas replied. "I won't trouble you with our problems, is there an inn here? We have gold …"

"Your gold isn't any good here, lad" a new voice said.

Thomas looked over at the dwarf that had spoken. His brilliant red beard was longer than when he had last seen it and there was an additional blue striped tattoo down one cheek.

"Thane Maz Drachrip!" the guards said bowing. Thomas and Carlin knelt down on one knee as well, reaching out he grabbed the leg of Percy forcing the man to genuflect.

"It's been awhile," Maz said with a smile. "Come to take me up on my offer, tell me how that star-kissed son of yours is doing?"

"He was taken from us a year ago by force to rejoin the people of his birth," Thomas said, unable to withhold the emotion from his voice.

"Ah, I'm sorry to hear that, lad, but perhaps it was for the best in the end … how many generations of your family would you had made him bury?" Maz said thoughtfully.

"Perhaps, but I still hope one day I will see him again if only to ensure he is happy." Thomas replied.

Maz nodded and rubbed his hand down Knight's slick coat. "Seasons ago my men pursued a black stallion in tack through these mountains for over a week before losing him. He too had a white sock like this one."

"My son's horse," Thomas replied.

"The elfin child?" Maz asked.

"No, my eldest … he disappeared over a year ago the same time we lost his brother." Thomas said. "Perhaps this is a tale best told over a mug of ale and a meal?"

"Those are the best kind," the king of the Wildhammer Clan said, "but I don't be thinking this story is going to have a happy ending."

"I pray it still might," Thomas replied.

That evening over rabbit stew and ale Thomas repeated the story he had heard from Percy. And as dawn arrived they returned to their trek to the Highlands on the back of griffons, leaving the horses behind. Thomas kept his hands lightly on the waist of the woman dwarf he rode behind. "I once again owe you a debt I'll never be able to repay, Claira Kindfeather," he said.

"Lad," she replied as they flew. "Your family has had its share of bad luck but your spirit still shines bright. The Light has plans for you folks; it's an honor to help out as we can."

Glancing around at the other griffons flying close at hand, Thane Maz had given him five dwarves to aid in retrieving his son. He was not only reunited with Claire but the other dwarves that had saved Nathaniel years ago. Carlin rode behind Agnar the griffon master. Percy was hanging onto Drakk for dear life and the dwarf was having a bit too much fun with the loops and dives he was making his mount do. And as before Truk and Harggan finished out the dwarven unit, Thomas had to wonder if there was a special connection between the five of them.

They made good time, able to fly over mountains instead of around them. It wasn't even noon before they landed on Thoradin's Wall. It had been deserted for centuries so they were in no risk of being seen. "How much further until we reach this Gilbert's homestead?" he asked Percy who was trembling and tossing up his breakfast over the edge of the wall.

The man made a pathetic gesture to the south. "Built near mountains to the south and before Stromgarde to the east, can't miss it … please can I go now?"

Thomas jingled a heavy laden purse. "Not if you want any more of these coins," he said coolly. Percy's greedy eyes lit up.

"Can we see it from the wall with a spyglass?" Drakk asked, "Get a feel of what we're up against?"

"Aye," Percy said, "then you will see the seven of you ain't nearly enough."

"We will see," Thomas replied, "get back on the griffon, worm."

They flew close, low behind the far side of the wall, reaching the other end in what felt like moments. They landed again hiding the griffons behind the ramparts. Truk offered Thomas his spyglass and with Percy's help he was able to find the farm in question. There were six fields and they were being worked by dozens of emerald green orcs. Thomas frowned. "I'm not one to be concerned about other people's business but I thought King Trollbane despised the orcs. Why would he let one of his nobles use them in the fields?"

"The internment camps overflow with them damn green skins," Percy said, "noblemen were allowed to buy a few of them. Or they do like my old boss did; he acquired his from bandits that picked up escapees."

"Lad," Claira said looking through her own telescope. "Do humans always have so many armed guards?"

"How many are we looking at?" Thomas asked bringing his spyglass back up.

"There is at least one guard for every five orcs and another two standing outside what looks to be a cellar of sorts." She reported.

"That would be where your boy is," Percy said, "at least that would be my guess. The naga is enormous so I'm also guessing they have more than just two guards keeping him pinned up."

Thomas watched as a female orc approached the building and spoke to the guards. One of the men reached out and fondled the woman's breast roughly before stepping back and opening the door. She adjusted her dress and stepped inside, they locked the entrance behind her. "You say they take the naga out to fight?" Thomas asked, "How often?"

"It really depends if Mr. Gilbert gets notice of someone having a combatant ready and then they will send riders out to make contact with those that they know will want to come to wager." Percy said, "It could be tonight or next week or next month."

"Riders … I just saw two men on horseback riding off like their asses were on fire," Claire said. "Maybe we got lucky."

"Is the barn door open?" Percy asked stepping up to the wall. "If so, see if you can look inside, if they are building a steel cage then you can bet there is a bout planned tonight. They won't leave it up otherwise, if Stromgarde catches them there will be heads rolling."

Bringing his spyglass up Thomas looked toward the barn; he adjusted, walking further down the wall until he could see inside. Within he saw orcs and it did look like they were putting together a cage of sorts. "You really think this naga is the bigger threat?" he asked Percy.

"Sir, that thing is a beast, I've seen it kill countless times … it's ruthless, unlike your boy. When Foster was in the cage he never once killed an opponent. Sometimes the owners would finish them off after their loss but your boy never did."

"So what is the plan, lad?" Claira said. "If my counting is right, it is twenty to seven and there may be others we cannot see."

"Lad," Truk said, "I may be able to get help. Dun Garok is a dwarven fortress nestled in Hillsbrad Foothills, and they are just a stone throw away. I can fly there and be back before nightfall with reinforcement."

"I want to use stealth," Thomas said. "We don't want to cause an incident that escalates to war. If my plan works out the dwarven involvement will be unseen."

"So you have a plan, lad?" Agnar asked.

"Almost," Thomas replied. "Tell me more about these arena matches, Percy."

"Usually one on one, hand-to-hand combat, fight to the death" he replied. "Though at times the owners will agree to other terms, pitting more fighters … letting them use weapons. When your son fought the naga they allowed him to have a knife, might as well have been a spoon for all the good it did him."

"A knife would be no good against them," Carlin said, "we studied them a bit in Stratholme being a port town; there have been clashes a time or two. They have scales which are almost as strong as plate and certainly as tough as any mail armor."

"Their weak points," Thomas pressed.

"Getting to it," Carlin replied, "their sides under their arms, their neck and the tip of their tail …"

"Tail?"

"Um if I understood it right," Carlin said, "it would be like getting kicked in the balls, sir."

'An image I didn't need," Truk replied with a smirk.

Carlin continued, "A long weapon would be the best bet to fight them with … spear, halberd … something to keep you out of range of their tails. Once you're trapped in the coils it's over."

"Where will we find one of those?" Thomas asked, they had traveled light and quick.

Truk coughed. "Dun Garok will have forges I could whip you something up before this evening."

"All right," Thomas said, "go quickly." As Truk mounted and flew off, Thomas turned back to Percy. "I assume since they are in fear of getting caught, strangers are not welcomed to these matches?"

Percy nodded, "there is no way you would get within a hundred yards of the homestead."

"What about you?" Thomas asked.

"Well," Percy looked really nervous. "I have been gone a few months; they might have wandered where I had gone off to."

"You can just tell them you have a new combatant you want to try out on the naga." Thomas said.

"And which one of you is crazy enough to do that?" Percy all but shouted.

Thomas smiled coldly at him before he went on to explain the rest of his plan.


	44. Chapter 44

**Chapter Forty-Four – **_Nahoan Suntouched, Age 21_

He awoke to the soft murmur of voices, he kept his eyes closed and listened. His squad was speaking in quiet Thalassian which meant they didn't want him to understand. However, after months of being around the Quel'dorei he had begun to comprehend the language and was able to more or less follow along.

"Are you sure it must come to this?" Swiftwind asked. "There must be roles he can play for the Farstriders that would let him keep his innocence and be of help."

Gentle fingers brushed through his hair. "I'll miss the baby too," Helios said from behind him. "But the Captain is right, we are on the brink of war with the Shadowpine Trolls, we need everyone to be ready to strike without question. A maimed foe can still kill, a dead one cannot."

"He's an equal to any Farstrider with his bow," Swiftwind said, "to send him back within the walls of Silvermoon would quench the fires so recently rekindled in his gaze."

"Sister, my heart breaks too," Solanna said sadly. "But the attack he suffered last week, in front of Ranger Hawkspear's squad … they saw what we have been keeping mum about, our baby's lack of resolve. He missed killing all three marks …"

"It was a multi-arrow attack!" Swiftwind said defensively her voice raising. "Even the Captain would struggle to hit true with that!"

"Lower your voice," Halduron said, "let him sleep."

So he had dishonored his Ranger family as well as himself. His fumbled ambush had brought disgrace to Halduron because he was under his command. A callused thumb brushed away the shameful tear he was unaware he had shed.

"It will be okay, baby," Helios said.

The bed dipped as the others sat down. "Seems you still have the ability to still surprise us," Halduron said. "How long have you been able to understand Thalassian?"

He opened his eyes. "I can listen better than speak it," he said.

"You imp!" Solanna said punching him lightly.

"Nahoan." He glanced over at Halduron. "I just want to say on behalf of all us, we are sorry."

Sorry for what, for having to send him away … for taking away another family? Nahoan turned his head away. "Talk to us, Nahoan," Halduron said rubbing a hand down the younger elf's blanket-covered leg. "Talk, yell, be angry if you must … please just say something …" the hurt in his commander's voice surprise him.

Here he was upsetting them and he wasn't even saying anything. Was that his fate to hurt the people who cared for him? Taking a calming breath he sat up, letting the blanket pool around his waist leaving his upper half bare. Swiftwind quickly took advantage of his movement, placing herself behind him. Her nervous fingers combed his hair back and started to braid it. "I'm not mad, sir. You have nothing to apologize for, regardless of what others may think I truly did the best I could for the Farstriders. My father will welcome me home, I will be safe and you won't have to worry about me. That being said …" he looked around the room at the faces filled with love and concern, "… I will miss you all, my brothers and sisters." The last words were barely a whisper.

"Fuck," Helios said pulling him into a bear hug. "You're just going to Silvermoon, Baby Brother, not Dalaran. We'll still be in your life, I promise."

The use of endearment that only Foster had used shook Nahoan and his body trembled. It had been a long while since he had thought of his brother, he felt guilty. Halduron patted his leg. "It's late," he said, "We should all try to sleep, our turn for dawn patrol tomorrow."

"Me too?" Nahoan asked as he was pulled back into Swiftwind's embrace, her legs on either side of him and his head pillowed against her breasts. Tilting his head back he met her gaze. "I'll squish you sleeping like this."

"Yes, you too Ranger Suntouched," Halduron said grabbing Nahoan's arm he gently but firmly tugged him out of Swiftwind's embrace. The elves quickly claimed their normal sleeping spots. "Ranger-General won't be here for another two days, until then you'll continue to perform your duties as a Ranger of Silvermoon."

The next morning he awoke to find himself nestled next to Halduron, the elder's arm wrapped around him and Nahoan's head on his chest. Any embarrassment he had to find himself in such an intimate position with another man had long since left him. He felt the other run his fingers through hair as they laid there. Tilting his head up, he saw Halduron's gaze on him. The elder winked and held a finger up to his lips. That's when Nahoan noticed the gentle rocking of the bed. _This_ still made him very uncomfortable and the elder's eyes sparkled as Nahoan's blush grew. He placed a hand over Nahoan's top most ear blocking the sounds of pleasurable moans which escaped from Helios.

Eventually the rocking stopped and Halduron lowered his hand. Then Swiftwind said, "My turn." Nahoan rolled his eyes and grabbed the hand putting it back over his ear. Halduron laughed and dipped his head kissing Nahoan on the forehead.

"Your turn will have to wait, Ranger Solanna," Halduron said. "Night patrol will be back soon, we have to be ready."

The Rangers scrambled from their bed. Halduron stepped out into the hall to collect their armor and weapons that were waiting for them and tossed the piles of clothing to the others. Nahoan quickly dressed, the armor he wore was silver mail with green and gold accents. It clung to his body, the links were as silent as leather. Solanna walked over and ran her hands down his body. Checking the various clasps to make sure they were secure. He did the same to her once she had finished. Quivers were refilled if needed and their straps tightened across the chest. After swinging their bows over their shoulders they walked down to the main room together. Here they were met by a young recruit who gave them a sweet roll and some fruit to eat as they went.

Captain Halduron spoke briefly to Hawkspear's squad as they returned from their patrol. Nahoan sat on the corner of a table munching on an apple, Swiftwind joined him. "Let's do something fun later, after we're done patrolling," she said.

"Like what, Sister?" Nahoan asked. He smiled as her face warmed from his endearment.

"I don't know, if you could do anything … anything allowed by the powers-to-be, what would you do?" She replied.

He thought for a moment and finally said, "Fish."

"Fish?" she said, with a smirk. "Eat it or you mean catching it?"

"Catching it," Nahoan said, "we had a lake near where I grew up, we would catch these gigantic salmon …"

"You're serious," she said, "a beautiful lady just offered to do anything with you and you pick fishing?"

His cheeks got warm and the blush crept up his ears. Looking down he mumbled an apology, "sorry, I'll think of something else while we're out."

"Rangers Swiftwind and Suntouched let's get going," their Captain hollered. Tossing the apple core Nahoan hurried over. "Suntouched on point, then the ladies followed by myself and Helios you take up the rear."

"Where are we going, sir?" Nahoan asked.

"South to the East Sanctum and then to the river and we'll follow it back up north to just east of Tor'Watha see if we can get any more reconnaissance before the Ranger-General arrives." Halduron replied.

Nodding Nahoan took the lead, running lightly along the ground. His eyes were constantly taking in the surroundings, looking for anything amiss. As they approached the Sanctum a feeling of being watched became overwhelming and he moved, adjusting himself into the shadows of the trees. He let out a soft bird call warning those coming behind him. Where … there was something out there. There was a sound of soft footfalls approaching from behind him. He didn't bother to look behind to confirm what his nose and ears already told him, as Halduron knelt down behind him.

"What did you see?" His Captain asked.

"There is something out there," Nahoan replied.

"What did you _see_?"

"It was more of a sense," Nahoan replied. "The same feeling I got those many months ago before Foster and I were ambushed by bandits."

Reaching back Halduron took a small cylinder stick that hung on his quiver. Pulling the pin he tossed it into the clearing after letting out a whistle. Nahoan raised a hand in front of his eyes to shield them, from the brilliant flash of light. As the flare chased away the shadows Nahoan saw a shift in a tree in front of them. He and Halduron had an arrow out at the same time and fired. His hit the troll in the leg, his Captain's arrow struck between the eyes.

There was a strange cry in the early morning air and it was echoed, over and over from all around the Ranger unit. Nahoan looked over at Halduron. "Run!" his commander shouted.

The use of stealth was abandoned as the five member team dashed away. Dodging between trees and over bushes as they raced they were able to avoid the arrows being aimed their way. "Captain," Helios shouted, "where to?"

The path back to the Retreat had been cut off. If they continued east it would bring the troll assailants straight to Fairbreeze Village. "South!" Halduron replied. "Get some distance on them and then circle back and pick off their numbers."

"Sir," Solanna said as she raced alongside. "Did you hear the answering cries … there are hundreds."

"Then I suggest you keep up, Ranger," Halduron said.

"Sir," Helios said, "the hills ahead may provide us enough shelter to hold them off until help arrives."

Nahoan didn't have the heart to ask where the help they thought might come from; the other elves were hours from being awake. And he wasn't sure they were within range for the high pitch whistles they used to be heard. The ragged hills Helios had mentioned came into view, Nahoan started up the rock wall first. He found handholds and quickly moved his way up. Swiftwind was on his heels, the other three stayed below keeping the trolls at bay with well shot arrows. They came to a flat ledge where they could see from three different directions with outcrops to shield them. Nahoan and Swiftwind took out their bows and gave the rest of the squad cover to climb up.

An arrow got through and struck Helios in the shoulder as he climbed. Halduron steadied him and they made it to the ledge ducking behind the rocks. Their commander tossed Helios a small vial, "antidote," he said, "gift from Nahoan's priestess friend." As the ranger drank it, Halduron moved behind him, breaking the arrow at the shaft. "Going to leave it in you for now, it doesn't seem to have hit anything major."

"I can still shoot a bow," Helios agreed. The small squad took position on all sides.

"Only shoot if they start to climb and then shoot to kill," Halduron's eyes found Nahoan. "I mean it, every shot has to count, we have maybe fifty shots between us for a hundred trolls, you do the math. If you can't protect your family then put down your bow and stay out of our way." Holding his fingers to his lips he made a piercing call for help, as expected there was no answer. Swiftwind drew back her bow and fired, her arrow buried into the throat of a troll climbing the eastern side. As the corpse fell it knocked down two more trolls. They quickly recovered and started their assent again. Nahoan pulled back the bowstring. His sight on the male to the left, as the troll looked up he recognized him as the hunter from the scouting party, the same trolls which had poisoned him. The troll let out a wicked grin, his lips curling around his tusks. Nahoan let his arrow go it struck the back of the hand of the troll, causing him to lose his grip and tumble back down the rock face. He landed with a sicken crunch but stood holding his hand and limped back to where the trolls were gathering at the face of the mountain.

A strong arm grabbed Nahoan from behind, turning him around; as Halduron's other hand slapped him hard across the cheek. "Damn it!" his commander shouted.

Nahoan dropped his bow and quiver and went to sit down along the far wall.

"All right Ranger Swiftwind take the east wall, Ranger Helios the west, Ranger Solanna the South, I'll fill in where needed. Nahoan, repeat the signal for aid ever two minutes, perhaps you can still assist in that minor way." He didn't even try to hide the frustration and disgust in his voice.

Nahoan let out a shrill call which mimicked Halduron's earlier signal. Then started to quietly count, once he reached one-hundred he let out another whistle. Soon he was up to five-hundred; the rangers were quickly depleting their quivers. They had probably enough for him to count to another five times before they were gone. This wasn't going to work. Nahoan stood and staying back out of the way tried to get a grasp on what was going on below. At the base of the mountain lay a growing stack of green skinned corpses. They were having a desired affect on the remaining trolls they seemed reluctant to be the next victim. Then Nahoan saw their position, the trolls had their back to the river. He eyed the bracer on his wrist.

Halduron let out a shrill whistle, his cold eyes on Nahoan. "I guess even that was too difficult," he said.

"Help!" Swiftwind shouted. As Helios left his post to aid in halting the rush of trolls up the east wall, Nahoan slipped off the ledge and into the shadows of the west wall. He traveled across a ways staying within the shade of the jagged rocks, and then worked his way down the mountain, without upsetting a single stone. Now all that was between him and the river was fifty-feet and that many trolls.

Above him his squad started shouting insults and taunts at the trolls. Helios and Halduron moved away from the safety of the outcrops and started throwing rocks down on the trolls. A nightingale song reached his ears, "go now" was what it ordered. He raced out of the safety of the trees and made it to the river's edge before he was spotted. Diving into the water he swam below the surface. He could hear a hoard of trolls jumping in after him. They were too slow and he broke free of the river on the other side.


	45. Chapter 45

**Chapter Forty-Five – **_Foster Conway, Age 23_

As punishment for his defiance, Foster was denied the right to bathe before the night's matches. He was also forced to remain nude, leaving behind what little protection the now shabby blanket gave him. Wishing he could tell himself he no longer cared, but somehow through everything he'd been through there was still a tiny spark of self-worth left. Zalashji forced him to walk in front of him with the naga holding on the chain attached to his collar from behind, much like a master leading his dog. As they approached the barn they heard a large roar coming from behind. The ground shook. Their armed guards prodded the naga to continue. There was a large noisy throng tonight. The pen was larger than usual, taking up most of the free space. The crowd was forced to stand either to the front or the back … the bars rested against the sides of the barn. To his relief there was no spike in the middle of the cage and he was chained to the far corner as was his normal place. Zalashji sprayed him with the fine mist and Foster took that as a warning to lie quiet and still, his master was going to be in cavernous bloodlust tonight. He moved as far as the chain would allow away from the rowdy crowd. He wasn't in the mood to be pissed on tonight, which had happened before. With the wall on the other side he was mostly safe.

"Welcome," Gilbert shouted to be heard above the crowd. "Quiet down now … quiet down … let me speak!" After the gathering fell to a low roar he continued. "We have a treat tonight! At the request of my naga he has been asked to participate in a gauntlet of opponents! To wet your appetite and to sedate his … a trio of fierce orc combatants in full battle gear!"

Foster studied the three orcs forced into the cage, relieved to find no familiar faces. They were indeed dressed in armor; one brandished twin wicked looking broadswords, the second had a large shield strapped to one arm and a mace in the other, the third hung back slightly, Foster guessed him to be a distance fighter or a healer. Knowing the outcome before the orcs shouted "Lok'tar Ogar!" and charged, Foster turned his head to the side and closed his eyes. The sound of death screams and the clatter of armor filled the air. Something warm splattered him and he didn't have to look to know it was blood or other life fluids. Too soon there barn was quiet except for the disgusting sounds of Zalashji enjoying his first meal in weeks. In the back of the crowd Foster could hear some of the spectators vomiting outside the barn.

Zalashji let out a grunt and there was the sound of ripping metal. "I do hate when my food has to be shelled first before I eat it," the naga said with a barking laugh. After several minutes he finished his meal and used his tail to brush the remains off to the side of the cage. "More," he hissed. Risking a glance at his master Foster saw the cobalt scales smeared with crimson, the naga's snout was also completely covered in blood. The serpent tongue busy cleaning it off.

"All right," Gilbert said, "up next we have the Wheaton's combatant, straight from Stranglethorn, Jamzil the troll berserker!"

Foster studied the hulking form of a troll that was prodded into the cage by his armed sentinels. Troll berserkers were a bloodthirsty sect of trolls dedicated to the total annihilation of their enemies. They had many strange abilities bestowed upon them which makes them all but unstoppable in the heat of battle. Berserkers were hardier and stronger than most trolls, effectively transforming them into a veritable whirling cyclone of death and destruction. Many scars marked his light-blue skin of this battle-hardened troll. A chain shirt of dark gray covered his muscular torso. The warrior carried several spears, which stuck out from a specially designed quiver strapped upon his back.

Zalashji let out a barking laugh. He said something in a language Foster didn't know but the troll did and his gaze filled with rage. "Slaaf, you know when berserkers are their deadliest? When they are at a distance from their enemy!" the naga shouted. Foster had seen the ripple of muscles so was not surprised as the troll was when the naga's tail lashed out and coiled around Jamzil's ankle and jerked him off balance. However, the troll quickly recovered and reached to grab one of his spears. Too slow, Zalashji was on him, his teeth clamped down on the broad neck of his opponent. More blood was splattered over Foster as he raised his hands to shield himself, he did not want to smell like troll.

Jamzil let out a death cry as the naga's talons ripped into his chest and Zalashji got the beating heart he desired. The crowd around the cage was divided between cheering at the grisly sight and booing at the brief fight. Gilbert let Zalashji feast for several minutes as winning bets were collected. Afterwards he rapped on the bars. "Ready for the main event?" he asked.

Zalashji looked up from where he was devouring the troll and let out a loud belch. "Already?" he hissed, "You promised me a banquet these have barely been appetizers!"

Gilbert let out a dark laugh and there was a motion of his hand. Armed guards appeared in front of the crowd.

Zalashji moved in front of Foster. "What is the meaning of this?"

"Just so you don't get any ideas," Gilbert said. "Stay back in that corner like a good lizard. All right boys raise it up!" The cage wall closest to Gilbert started to rise, pulled up by a pulley system Foster hadn't seen before. The doorway of the barn was blocked out by a giant bulking form; the ground shook from its footfalls. As came into the light Foster gasped. "Straight from Un'Goro Crater, something I picked up from a goblin," Gilbert said, "a Devilsaur!"

Foster had only read about such creatures in grade school. It was three times as large as Zalashji. He wondered what kept the beast from turning on the crowd and noticed a dark skinned dwarf walking along side. The stout man made a motion with his hand; the Devilsaur ducked down its massive head under the raised wall and stepped into the cage. With a loud crash the barrier shut behind it. The men outside quickly secured the joints.

"Finally," Zalashji said, "finally a real challenge … you bought this beast to defeat me?"

"You're getting too expensive to upkeep and bossy," Gilbert said with a shrug. "If you defeat it, you'll pay for your keep and if it eats you and your slut then I'm free to exploit the beast … it won't backtalk me."

"So our partnership is coming to an end," Zalashji said, "so be it. Free the beast's mind hunter let me have the full primal fury!"

The dinosaur let out a fearsome roar which was echoed by the naga who charged. Foster did not hide his eyes from this battle; he knew whatever the outcome it would be epic. Zalashji dodged under the massive teeth that could have taken his head off in one bite. The giant reptile whipped around his tail catching the naga in the chest and knocking him back against the bars. The whole cage shook. His master quickly recovered and charged again, moving with speed Foster had only witnessed a couple times when they jousted.

The manacle around his neck grew taut as someone tugged on the chain. Foster ignored it but happened again. Glancing behind him he wondered who had a death wish and had the ability to breath taken from him when he found the eyes of Carlin Redpath, underneath a large hood. Foster stared at the man from his life before like he was seeing a ghost. Carlin shouted alongside the other rowdy crowd as his foot again tugged at Foster's chain. What was he doing here? Foster frowned, his heart starting to race. It wasn't safe for his old friend. When Zalashji turned his back on him, Foster crept closer to Carlin. It took a couple of moments but soon he was kneeling next to the man. From underneath the large cloak Carlin wore a couple of hands appeared and in the fingers was a small piece of wire which expertly worked on the lock of the shackle until it clicked free. The hand squeezed his shoulder and disappeared back under the cloak as the whole cage rocked again. Zalashji had knocked the dinosaur off its hind legs and it was clawing into the ground as it struggled to right itself. Foster looked away from the fight and back to the Carlin only to find him gone. He would have accounted the whole thing as his imagination but the collar was loose upon his neck. What purpose had this served, he crept slowly back to his old place leaving the collar on. It seemed prudent to wait and see at this point.

He ducked as Zalashji flew over him crashing into the cage wall. The dinosaur had gotten lucky and one of his large feet had kicked the naga away. However, by the amounts of blood pooling in the cage, Foster had to imagine the naga had already mortally wounded the beast. As the naga recovered and charged again, Foster noticed a trio of bloody stripes down Zalashji's chest. The Devilsaur let out another fearsome scream that was silenced when the naga stabbed his talons into its chest and ripped out its heart. As the naga fed there were angry shouts outside the cage, seemed a majority of people had bet on the dinosaur.

Something wet was thrown on his lap; he looked down at the bloody piece of muscle. Zalashji barked at him as he tore off a chunk from the still twitching beast. "A morsel for my slaaf, eat up!"

Foster looked at it with disgust, he couldn't really mean it. The naga slithered over to him and picked up the piece of heart. "Eat it," he was ordered again, offering him the offensive flesh.

"Naga," a voice said from behind, "get away from my boy!"

"Gentlemen, appears we have a last minute entry!" Gilbert shouted above the angry crowd. Foster noted fear in his voice … seems the mob was not happy about losing tonight. "He says he'll take the place of the dinosaur in your wagers."

"He's just man!" Someone shouted.

"He's more than just a man," Gilbert said, "He's the sire of our previous champion!"

Foster looked at his pa, a range of emotions threatening to overwhelm him … hope, humiliation, love, fear … Zalashji ran hand down Foster's hair as the door closed behind his father. "Interesting," he hissed. "Your sire … he does have your eyes … well what yours eyes looked like before you submitted."

"I said get away from my son!" His pa shouted as he charged. The naga went to coil his tail around Foster but he wasn't there. Freed from his collar he raced for his father. A hand brushed his cheek before continuing his charge. From above a gleaming halberd was dropped by unseen hands. It landed with a thud in the dirt in front of his father, who picked it up as he attacked the naga. The weapon surprised Zalashji and his father managed to bring the weapon down across the naga's chest before springing back out of the way.

Growing up Foster had heard tales of the time his father spent in the military, though he only served a short time his name was well remembered in the forces of Stratholme. For the first time Foster was seeing why. His father danced around the naga the halberd an extension himself, attacking but keeping away from the deadly talons. Zalashji though had centuries on his opponent and his tail whipped around catching his father in the side knocking him away. As the naga charged to press his advantage Foster stepped in front of him, blocking the attack.

"Slaaf, what are you doing?" Zalashji hissed.

"Using what you taught me," Foster said, "to defeat you."

"Insolent hatchling!" the naga growled as it brought his massive arm down. Foster blocked the attack like he'd done a hundred times before and easily evaded the following strike from the tail. A flash of silver appeared from under his arm as his father brought the halberd up burying it in the naga's chest. Zalashji let out a roar and wrapped his arm around the weapon jerking it out of his father's grasp. Pulling the weapon from himself he used the blunt end to knock Foster aside. "Mine!" he shrieked.

His scream was echoed by those outside the cage. "The roof is on fire!" someone shouted. The following moments were chaos; there were the sounds of gunfire. Familiar scales wrapped around him and Foster was pulled into the coils of the naga as smoke filled the barn. It was burning quickly. Zalashji charged the wall that had been attached to the pulleys; one blow from the naga it flew off its hinges and crashed to the ground. The naga still carried the bloody halberd and used it to knock aside the armed guards that approached. Slithering outside the naga looked around and saw Gilbert running toward his house, shifting his hold on the halberd he threw it. Foster watched it arch through the sky and come down, spearing Gilbert through the back. "Our partnership is over, human," the naga hissed as it started spiriting away Foster still trapped in its coils.

Foster watched as his father raced out of the burning barn, their gazes met and he chased after them. If they had been in the water Foster would have been lost, however they were crossing a field of grass. Suddenly there was a loud cry and the sound of flapping wings. In front of the naga landed a group of large griffons, their riders, dwarves, plus Carlin who slid off from the back of a griffon and took his shield down.

"Naga, drop my son and I'll let you go," his father said.

The naga hissed and looked around at the group, his hand pressed against the wound in his chest.

His father looked over at Carlin, "the fire was a nice touch, though a bit of warning would have been nice."

"That wasn't us," Carlin said, "We freed Foster, dropped the halberd and got out like you order."

"Then who?" his father said.

In the moonlight a large mass of bodies separated itself from the grass and the griffons let out nervous cries. "Lok'tar, brother!" Skang said as he approached a crude spear in his hand.

"By my beard," Harggan said, "we're surrounded by orcs …."

"Don't hurt them!" Foster shouted and then repeated the same command in orcish.

The ground underneath the naga began to rumble as giant roots wrapped around his tale and crept up his body. Zalashji let out an angry cry. "Release the human," a new voice said.

Foster looked over at orc that stepped forward, he had dark black hair and brilliant blue eyes.

"He's mine or no ones," Zalashji screamed as he turned bringing his teeth down. There was bright flash of light; Foster could feel the heat from the attack which sent the naga flying one direction and him the other. Griffons took to the sky as the naga was knocked through them. A group of orcs chased after the naga; Foster found himself being pulled into his father's embrace. Carlin draped a cloak over his naked body as the orc that had saved him walked forward.

Foster's father moved protectively in front of his son. "I mean you no harm, human," the orc said in perfect common. "We came to this place to free the orcs before we left these lands. I too was once kept as sport to be watched." He looked over at Foster. "Don't let this time define who you are, use what you have learned to become what you were meant to be."

"Foster!" Nignath appeared and he wrapped his arms around her. They rested their foreheads together for a moment.

"You are free," he said.

"As are you," she replied. "They attacked while the match was going on, many humans have been killed. You should leave this place."

"Of course with you at my side," he said.

She smiled sadly at him. "Warchief Thrall received a dream; we orcs are to set sail to new lands. Our destiny lies beyond the great water." She gestured over to the orc stranger who was watching them with sadness and understanding in his eyes.

"I will go with …"

She held a finger up to his lips. "You would not be welcomed," she said. "I and my brother and uncle would protect you with our lives but hatred for the humans is deep …"

"I hope someday that may not be true," Warchief Thrall said, "however, she is right, if you remained with us it would be a death sentence."

"What about the baby?" Foster asked. Thrall raised an eyebrow at the question but remained silent.

"He will be well loved," Nignath said. "He will be told great stories of the battles his father fought and of the love he gave."

Foster wiped a tear from her cheek. "Please …"

She grabbed the hand in hers. "What of your brother?" she asked. "Your destiny is a different path than mine."

"Nathaniel didn't make it home?" Foster asked, hoping perhaps that that weight had been removed from his heart. His father shook his head.

Foster nodded, an old resolve setting in. His stood and embraced Nignath. Her strong arms wrapped around him. "May the Light watch over you all … goodbye, beloved."

Nignath muffled a cry as she hurried back over to the orcs. Skang and Kobug wrapped an arm around her, as they called back their goodbyes to their brother. Thrall studied Foster a moment longer. "The orcs that chased the naga returned, said he escaped into the ocean to the south."

Foster nodded that he understood but seem incapable of much more. The strong arm of his father wrapped around him and together they watched until the orcs disappeared over the horizon.


	46. Chapter 46

**Chapter Forty-Six – **_Nahoan Suntouched, Age 21_

He was out of the fountain moments after he landed, startling a couple on the bench nearby. Pausing he tried to figure out the quickest way to get help for his friends. It was still very early in the day; most of the town was asleep. Choice made he raced up the ramp toward Sunfury Spire. The armed guardians paid him little heed as he ran past them. Once in the spire proper he stopped and looked around, to his surprise and delight standing near the throne was the Ranger-General and Lor'themar. Sylvanas was in discussion with a dark-haired High Elf in a crimson robe that he didn't recognize so he ran up to Lor'themar.

"Sir, please, my squad is in dire need of help … we are out numbered twenty to one against the Shadowpine Trolls … we were out on patrol and were ambushed … I …" there was a snap and he lost the ability to speak.

"Children these days," the robed elf said rolling his eyes. "Rude … rude … such wild tails."

"Grand Magister," Sylvanas said tersely, "That is no child he is one of my rangers. Please give him back his voice so he can finish his report." She looked over at Nahoan, "Ranger Suntouched, take a deep breath and tell me exactly what happened as quickly as you can." The magister rolled his eyes and snapped his fingers.

Taking the suggested breath Nahoan started again. "My squad was ambushed by a large army of trolls while out on dawn patrol. At the moment they have found a safe haven on a rocky outlook near Elrendar River. However they only have five quivers of arrows between them. They need help, quickly."

"Even if he was telling the truth," The Grand Magister said, "it would take us at least an hour to reach the area in question and if that is the case, it must have taken this child an hour if not more on foot to reach us. It is way past time we can be any aid to his squad."

"No sir, you're wrong," Nahoan said holding up his left arm. "This bracer binds me to Silvermoon; it has only been a couple of minutes since I left them …"

The mage took Nahoan's wrist and studied the bracer. "Ah, the human-raised child, I remember you now; they had me craft this bracer … and you just now used it to reach us?"

"Yes sir," Nahoan said, frustrated at the lack of emotions from his superiors. They had to get back, had to do something.

"Lor'themar," Sylvanas said, "go to Farstriders Square round up as many Rangers as you can find, we'll probably be on a recovery mission by the time we reach them."

"Wait," the magister said, "Bring your people here to the Spire and hurry, there may still be time to save your men."

Lor'themar ran to open door of the Spire and let out the shrill call of the Farstriders, all around the city it was echoed by others. As the spire began to fill with Rangers and Guardians ready for battle Nahoan watched the magister and others in robes paint a hastily made rune on the floor of the spire.

"That better come out of the carpet, Rommath," King Anasterian said who had been watching silently from his throne.

The Grand Magister ignored his king as he stood up. "Everyone stand within the rune, child come here." As rangers and casters stepped into the circle Rommath brought Nahoan to the middle. "This is going to hurt … a lot," Rommath said as he began to chant. The bracer started to heat up, soon it was scalding his flesh and Nahoan tried to pull it out of the mage's grasp. The fingers were like steel and the burning sensation spread up his arm. He heard screaming and realized it was him as the rune at their feet started to glow. Lor'themar had just started to move toward him when there was a brilliant flash of light. Rommath let him go and he crumbled to the ground, surprised to find river rocks. Looking up Nahoan saw they had returned to where he had been a few minutes ago.

The trolls that had given him chase were in the process of swimming back across the river. They never made it as Rommath cast a spell freezing them and the water solid. The Rangers and Guardians from Silvermoon shouted their battle cries as they charged across the frozen river to aid their comrades. The mages and clerics that came with, hung back, attacking from afar. Struggling to his feet Nahoan stumbled to the edge of the river, the heat from the scalding bracer melted the ice allowing him to plunge his entire arm into the icy water. There was the sound of cracking and pulling his arm back he noticed a large fracture in the metal due to the drastic change of temperature. Bringing the bracer down hard on a nearby rock he finished the job and his shackle fell off, he was free.

Plunging his arm back into the water he looked across the way. The ledge he had left his squad at was being swarmed by trolls as the elves overran their foes on the ground. Pulling his arm from the water he flexed it, though painful it still worked. He ran toward the battle, unsheathing a dagger he carried. Ignoring those on the ground he scrambled up the cliff wall. As he reached his squad a large green troll stood up, a deadly looking knife in his hand, it was covered in blood. Grabbing the troll by his ponytail, Nahoan jerked him back hard at the same time he brought his dagger down along the troll's throat, slitting it. Throwing the troll over the edge he looked down to see Swiftwind laying still on the ground a crimson stain spreading across her chest. The others were standing, though it looked as if Captain Brightwing and Helios were both fighting one-handed. Moving quickly and with purpose, Nahoan used the training he had been taught all his life, but hadn't had the courage until now to apply, to cut down their attackers. At one point he could have sworn he heard his father's strong commands he used, to instruct him and Foster. With deadly accuracy his blade found the trolls' throats, hearts and other vital points.

A large red-haired troll tackled Solanna, it was the same one from earlier, his troll regeneration had healed him. Nahoan attacked knocking him away from his sister and then pressing his advantage bringing the blade down burying it in the troll's chest over and over until a strong hand grabbed his wrist and disarmed him. "Enough, that's enough Ranger stop … he's dead, he won't be getting back up." Nahoan glanced over his shoulder at Helios, the blood lust leaving him and he looked back down at the dead troll.

"What have I done?" he whispered.

"Saved Solanna's life," Helios said, "the trolls are in retreat, help me bring Swiftwind to the priests, I can't carry her … she still breathes they will be able to save her."

Nodding, Nahoan moved over to where Swiftwind laid, Solanna pressing a cloth against her wound. Brushing his sister gently aside Nahoan picked up his injured friend and carried her down the mountain. Laying her down next to a priestess he stepped back. "I'll look at that arm after I'm done with her," the healer said.

Nahoan nodded and moved away from the group. He looked down at his armor, it was covered in blood. Glancing around, he saw Halduron and Lor'themar speaking and off to the side; Helios and Solanna were giving each other comfort.

"Shorel'aran," he said whispering the Thalassian farewell, he slipped into the river that had been thawed and let the current carry him downstream. After he was out of sight of the battleground he swam across to the far side. Holding his breath he stepped down on the shore and remained there. Then he started to run.

Using every bit of knowledge he gained over the past year as a Farstrider he hid his passage the best he could. With the Quel'dorei focus on the trolls, maybe they would even push their advantage toward Tor'Watha; it would give him considerable time to slip away. He wasn't sure if anyone noticed his missing bracer, if not they wouldn't even think to look for him on this side of the river. The forest across the stream was greatly different from the everlasting autumn of Eversong. Aptly named Blackened Woods the land was still burnt from the dragonfires in the Second War, the trees were just now recovering their greenery. He was surprised how barren it looked. Keeping off the main road he skirted around the edge of a building which looked to be another sanctum of sorts. According to the maps he had studied there would be a small town, Tranquillien, soon on his left. Thinking it unwise that he seek shelter there, when it finally came into view he kept to the shadows.

He did give pause to think of his elven father, he should at least send a note. Saying thank you and a promise to return someday, one he intended on keeping … one day. There was also the matter of Rook. He would write down some words and give them to a guard at Thalassian Pass. Guards … he wondered if they would just let him walk past. He doubted it, his 'baby fat' probably still showed. He'd worry about that bridge when he came to it. For now his concern was finding relief for the burning of his arm, a glance showed the blistering had spread from his wrist almost to his shoulder. Nahoan wondered what kind of magic Rommath had used and how far it would spread. He came across a small homestead which had been lost to the dragons years ago. However there was a well and to his relief it still worked. He brought up a bucket and holding out his arm poured the cool water on his burns. Getting a second pail he removed his tunic and dunked it into the water to be used to bandage his arm. His body was screaming for respite but he pushed on. Once he was back in Darrowmere Forest he could rest.

His weary legs begged for a moment, he dropped to his knees, his body covered by sweat of fever or exhaustion he could not tell. As he knelt there gasping for breath in the distance far behind he heard a shrill whistle. Stumbling to his feet he began to run again, had he been covering his tracks, he couldn't remember. The sun was now high in the sky, his trail would be easy to follow he was afraid. Then again, they didn't need to track him. They knew where he was going; there was only one way out of Quel'Thalas.

His arm throbbing he was force to stop again, it felt as if the burn had reached his shoulder. Perhaps he was just being foolish … what was the use of being free, if he was dead? "Because it was something I chose to do, of my own free will," he said softly. A thought came to him; he had once tried to escape by water there was nothing stopping him now. The shore to The Great Sea lay to the west and the harbor of Stratholme to the south of that. If he remembered the maps he studied there was nothing but rocky walls from the two points. No chances of running into another soul, more likely becoming shark food. Changing his path he ran west, his body running on willpower now.

The apple and sweet roll he had for breakfast seemed like a lifetime ago. He paused at a small lake and tasted the water, spitting it back out, it tasted like sulfur. No food … no drink, he really was an idiot. Shaking his head he soaked his arm for a moment, letting the cloth still tied around it to absorb some water. He staggered to his feet and continued moving, he heard the whistle a few more times and too his relief it seemed to grow further away. At one point during the day there had been the sound of a horn, the call was unfamiliar to him and when it wasn't repeated he dismissed it. The smell of the ocean reached him, he was close. He stumbled and fell to the ground, the pain from his arm as he went to catch himself almost made him pass out. Going to stand he found his foot unable to move, he looked down he saw vines wrapped around his ankle. Using his good hand he started to break them away but they seemed to grow back as fast as he stripped them off. Frowning he reached for his dagger and then remembered Helios had taken it. He recalled why … he had killed for the sake of his friends. His hand trembled as the tears started to fall. He was sobbing when he sensed someone nearby; looking around through feverish eyes he saw the form of a High Elf separate from the shadows.

It dawned on him the roots were a form of trap, one he had stumbled into. "Ranger Suntouched?" the female asked in Thalassian.

He shook his head, "No ma'am," he replied in Common.

She smirked and knelt down, the grin faded quickly though and was replaced by a look of concern. "By the Sunwell," she whispered. Ignoring his pleas she pulled him toward her and glanced down his back, and her cool fingers ran up the length of his neck. "That stupid moronic mage," she cursed under her breath. With a wave of her hand she freed his feet from the root but before he could move she reached down and grabbed his wrist. Putting his arm across her shoulders she knelt and reached between his legs, grabbing his thigh she stood with him across her shoulders. He was too shocked at being carried this way to fight her, or perhaps beyond caring. She began running back the way he had come from. Bringing a horn to her lips she used it to call out, it was the same notes he had heard earlier. As expected there was a reply far in the distance.

The way the ivory-haired elf ran, you would have guessed Nahoan didn't weigh more than a small child. He wanted to fight her, but he had used up all his vigor to reach as far as he had and it was all for naught. Instead he found himself dozing and trapped in dreams where he was covered with blood. After one such nightmare he woke screaming and struggling with the elf that held him.

"Careful," she shouted quickly taking a step back and kneeling to give herself a more solid footing.

"It hurts," he wailed, not sure if he meant the burn which had spread to chest or the memories.

"I know …" she said softly, "I know. Just need to make it a little more …"

"To the chains that await me," Nahoan said sadly.

"To the healers that can mend you," she replied, "just need to go a little further."

"No, you've made it far enough, Sister," Ranger-General Sylvanas Windrunner said as she appeared from the shadows.


	47. Chapter 47

**Chapter Forty-Seven – **_Thomas Conway – Age 46_

"Riders approaching fast from Stromgarde," Claira reported. "We may not want to be here when they arrive."

"All right," Thomas agreed. "Let us return to the cover of Thoradin's Wall." The despair of seeing his son cowering behind the naga earlier in the evening was threatening to overwhelm him. Nothing Percy had told him, prepared him to actually seeing his child tethered to that beast. It took every ounce of willpower he possessed to wait. The plan had been to tire the beast out first, hoping, as like a snake, it became more lethargic after it ate. At the thought of Percy, he wondered where the cowardly human had run off to. As agreed he had brought Thomas in shackles to Gilbert and used the gold he'd been given to wet the greed of the other man. Right before he had stepped into the cage Thomas had given Percy his promised payment and the man had eagerly run off before the battle.

"Sir, we have a problem," Truk said. "None of the griffons will let your son get on them … he smells like naga."

Foster stood silent, Carlin's cloak pulled tightly around him. His son's once imposing body had been whittled down to where his ribs now showed. Thomas had seen numerous scars covering the dirty flesh as Foster was led past him earlier in the evening. Nothing Thomas had done while in the service compared to the hell his oldest had suffered in the hands of his keepers. Foster found his father's eyes on him and Thomas was surprised by the resolve he saw.

"I bent, Pa, but tried my hardest never to break," he said. "I did what I had to … to survive."

"If he can't fly," Thomas said, "then the rest of you should. Foster and I will head toward the wall on foot. Hurry now before you're spotted."

"I'll stay too," Carlin said.

"Nay," Thomas said, "two are easier to hide than three. Go, we'll be there before dawn."

Carlin nodded, sitting down he slipped off his boots and offered them to Foster. "I'll get them back later," he said as he climbed barefoot behind Truk. Afterwards the dwarves took off into the night sky.

Thomas looked back toward the burning barn and saw numerous men and new ones arriving on horseback. "Can you walk?" he asked Foster who stood up after slipping on the borrowed boots.

"I can run," Foster said, "just point me in the right direction. I am in better shape than I look."

Nodding, Thomas pointed to the west and let his son take the lead. The darkness hid them from sight as they hurried through the countryside. They had barely made it away from the homestead when Foster stopped. "Are you okay?" Thomas asked.

Foster gestured to the body that lay at his feet. Thomas glanced down to find Percy, his throat slit. Before he could say anything his son said, "Too quick of an end for him. He deserved to suffer … the orcs must have got him."

"What part did he play in this?" Thomas asked.

Foster gestured to his back. "He's responsible for most of the scars on me; he was my first keeper's guard dog, handy with a whip … and branding iron."

Thomas swore. "That may be … but he was also the one that led us to you."

Foster raised an eyebrow. "Came for money didn't he? I tried to get them to return me for a reward in the first weeks. I wondered what became of him, heard from Nignath that old Arthur had been found dead a few months back. It was blamed on failing to pay up on his gambling debts."

"Nignath?" Thomas asked as he bent down and rifled through Percy's body. Finding the bag of coins he had given him he put it in his pocket.

"My …" Foster seemed lost for words.

"The orc maiden?" Thomas asked. Foster nodded. "Is she really carrying my grandchild?"

A range of emotions crossed over his son's face and he looked longingly the direction the orcs had disappeared. "Nay," he whispered, "she carries her child, and I will never be his father." In a louder voice he continued, "Let's keep going, we haven't put that much distance between us and the mess Gilbert left behind."

Thomas let his son set the pace and was surprised that Foster seemed to have spoken the truth earlier that his body was healthier than it appeared. He kept up a brisk pace as the immense wall started filling up more of the horizon. Eventually Thomas spotted Carlin waving to them from the ramparts; he stood above a decrepit stone stairs. Foster stopped at the bottom of the set of steps and gave them a dubious look.

"Can you climb?" Thomas asked.

His son nodded. "Just not sure they will support us."

"Go slow, stay close to the wall," Thomas said.

Foster nodded and started climbing up, about halfway up the step he put his foot on crumbled and he teetered. Thomas lunged and grabbed his son pressing him against the wall. For a moment he stood there, letting his pulse return to normal. "Pa?" Foster said.

"Careful does it," Thomas said stepping back and gesturing him to skip the broken step. "Don't want to lose you again."

They continued their way and made it to the top without any more missteps. Up top they were met with a large iron tub sitting on top of a low fire. As they watched, Claira on the back of her griffon appeared and dumped two buckets of water she held into the pot before flying back off.

"We found an old kitchen here in the garrison," Carlin explained. "We thought you might enjoy a bath," he said to Foster.

"A bath or you fixing to stew me?" Foster replied, eyeing the large iron vessel.

"Best we can figure it was used as a sink or something, but it can hold water. Well, after Harggan made a couple of quick fixes," Carlin said.

Thomas and Foster walked over to it and looked inside it was about halfway full of water, there were numerous leaves floating in the water. He also noticed it gave off a fragrant odor.

"I added some herbs I found, lad," Truk explained to Foster. "You're a bit … ripe."

Drakk flew arrived on the back of his griffon with two more pails of water which he dumped into the tub. "I'll go grab a couple more for him to rinse off with," the stout man said before flying off.

Slipping off the boots and letting the cloak fall, Foster revealed his scar back to his father. In the daylight he could see it fully. There were multiple lash marks scars criss-crossing his back, two letters Bs burnt into his flesh and what looked like a crude trident scar that covered the length of his back. "By the light," he whispered. His son looked over at him and realized what had caused the alarm.

"It doesn't hurt," he said as he slipped into the water. "Not any more."

Shaking himself out of his stupor Thomas watched as Truk offered his son a bar of hard soap. Foster scrubbed his flesh until it started turning pink. Taking the soap from him Thomas used it to wash his son's long grimy hair, using a bucket of fresh water to rinse it out afterwards. It took two more washes and rinses before he was content, afterwards Thomas gently pressed Foster to lean forward and used the soap on his son's battered back. He could tell it made him uncomfortable and scrubbed it down quickly.

After the bath was done, Foster climbed out of the makeshift tub, shaking off the access water. Claira let out a gasp and his son glanced over at her, it took a moment for it to dawn on him her blush was due to his nudity and by then Drakk had tossed him a blanket which he quickly wrapped up in. "Sorry," Foster apologized, "it has been so long since I was allowed to wear clothing, I forgot how to conduct myself in front of a lady."

"It's alright, lad," she replied with a grin. "Put a bit more meat on those bones and I would even enjoy the show."

Thomas motioned for Foster to sit down and after looking through the bag he packed he found a comb. He eyed the long hair dubiously. "You're giving Nathaniel a run for his money with that hair, would you like me to crop it?"

"No!" Foster said a bit too quickly. "I mean, I'd like to keep it long for now."

"Here, sir, let me take over," Claira said. "I know a thing or two about caring for long tresses." She had a long auburn braid down her back. Leaving Foster in her care Thomas walked over to the wall and looked back the way they had come. In the distance he could still see tendrils of smoke from the fires of last night. There were no signs of pursuit.

"Here, lad," Agnar said offering Foster a straight razor and mirror. "Might as well get yourself cleaned up before returning to your ma."

"I'm not allowed to …" Foster's voice trailed off and he seemed to mentally shake himself. "Thank you, sir," he said taking them. Thomas watched as his son studied his face in the mirror, he wondered what he was thinking. Then using the razor sharp blade he made quick work out of the long stubble on his face. As he was done shaving, Claira finished with his hair, pulling it back into a ponytail.

Going back through his pack, Thomas found the outfit he had packed from Foster's old things and offered it to him. His son glanced at Claira who winked and turned her back. The clothes hung loosely on Foster's gaunt frame. He touched the fabric and for the first time since he'd been returned to him, Thomas saw his son smile. "I'll have to eat some of ma's good cooking to fill these out again," he said. "It feels nice to wear clothes again; it makes you something less than a man …"

"You survived a year in hell," Carlin said interrupting him. "If you ask me that makes you more of a man than most."

Thomas patted his son on the shoulder. "Let's go home, son."

"I can't go home," Foster said surprising him. "Not without my brother or at least knowing he is safe and loved. I can't go back to Ma without that … please."

Thomas nodded and gestured to a griffon nearby. "Then let us be off and not make your mother wait longer than she has to."


	48. Chapter 48

**Chapter Forty-Eight – **_Nahoan Suntouched, Age21_

He awoke to an argument, which seemed to be the standard these days. His father arguing to take him home, the Farstriders disagreeing and saying he should return to the Farstrider retreat and Belestra demanding he be left at the inn in Tranquillien until he was recovered enough to travel. The one going on at the moment was between his father and Captain Brightwing.

"You said he was done with Rangers," his father was saying.

"That was before he showed such ferocity in the heat of battle," Halduron replied. "Something clicked …"

"Or broke," his father interrupted. "My son was … is a gentle soul and you damn Farstriders stole his innocence from him. He will never get that back! You made him into a killer."

Killer … was that what he was? The trolls he slaughtered would never laugh or cry again, but if he hadn't then it would be his friends that would have been lost.

"No, not a killer," Halduron was saying, "He was raised too well to ever become one of those. He's a protector, of his family. He charged into battle wounded to help out his comrades."

One of his abrupt coughing fits interrupted them. Belestra stirred from the chair she was resting in and moved over to him. Pulling him up gently into a sitting position she rubbed his back as he cleared his lungs. "I'm getting better?" he asked her as she put some pillows behind him and set him back.

"You are," she replied. "You didn't cough anything up that time; the infection must be leaving your lungs. How's your arm?"

He moved his left arm and replied, "Stiff, ma'am."

"Can you endure a massage?" she asked, "It will help with your circulation."

"I can try," he said.

She helped him turn around so his head was at the foot of the bed and lay down on his chest. Halduron moved over and sat down on the floor in front of him, taking his hands into his own. Belestra climbed onto the bed and straddled his backside as she gently started massaging his back, starting on the right side. Once he started to relax her hands moved to the new tissue on his left side. He squeezed Halduron's hand as the first bolt of pain shot through him.

"Breath, Nahoan," Halduron instructed, "breathe through the hurt."

The massage started at his lower back and moved its way slowly up to his left shoulder. By the time her nimble fingers started working down his arm he was afraid he'd crushed his commander's hands. "Enough," he finally said as she rubbed the rough skin around his wrist. The offending fingers immediately left but the pain it caused lingered until Belestra's magic cooled the new nerves and he found himself fighting to stay awake. He was tired of sleeping and the nightmares it left him in.

"Can I take him for a walk?" his father asked.

"Of course, Master Suntouched," Belestra said. "It would do him good to get him up and around, just take it slow. He may get winded easily."

"Don't talk over me," Nahoan sighed as pushed himself up. They helped him slide on a pair of loose cotton pants. It sat low on his hips, leaving the freshly made skin untouched. It had taken Belestra and half dozen priests to remove his old skin and grow it anew. Thankfully he had been unconscious for that procedure. He had been told it was necessary; the skin had been too damaged to save after Rommath's spell to reverse the magic of the bracers had surpassed the metal it was bound to. It would have consumed him if Lady Vereesa Windrunner, younger sister of the Ranger-General, hadn't found him. It seems the Windrunners' have an estate on the west coast and once they had figured out where he was going the horn call he had heard was a message to the younger Windrunner to intercept him.

His father offered him an ornate cane and he used it to stand, the blood rushing down hurt and he gasped waiting for the initial rush of pain to ebb. "Can you do nothing for his wrist?" his father asked as they waited.

Nahoan studied the wrinkled scarred flesh around his wrist. "The burn is deep; it would take extensive magic to repair, we remove the layer of skin affected by magic. We thought it was more prudent to save his life than to make him pretty. That can come once he's fully recovered, it's cosmetic, and it's not causing him any pain." Belestra explained.

As he moved toward the door, his father and Halduron fell in step beside him. "I'd like to speak to my son in private," his father said coolly.

"Of course, Master Suntouched," Halduron replied in the same tone. "I was merely going to my room to inform the squad of my Ranger's progress."

Nahoan looked between the two men and shook his head. "Idiots," he whispered under his breath, but loud enough to be overheard. "I'm not some toy to be fought over."

His room was on the lower floor so there were no steps for him to fight, before he was outside. Walking through a small garden, he found a bench by a fountain and sat down gingerly, making sure his new skin didn't touch anything. His father sat down beside him. "You were going to leave without saying goodbye?" he asked after a few minutes.

"I was going to get a note to you," Nahoan said. Though, after he had changed his path away from the Thalassian Pass, he hadn't really thought of a plan how. "I wasn't leaving forever," he said. "I did really plan to return."

"How?" his father asked, his voice rising. "You would have been dead if Lady Vereesa hadn't intercepted you. As stubborn as your mother, I warned her that going to Dalaran while she was pregnant was foolish. She promised to return before your birth …"

"She tried," Nahoan said.

"As you would have, I'm sure …" his father said bitterly, "Would have tried, eventually, some century … perhaps."

"Doesn't matter anymore," Nahoan said, "I'm not going anywhere … if you folks have your way … for a very long time. Can I please be alone for a while? I won't move."

With a heavy sigh his father stood and left the garden, disappearing around the edge of the inn. Resting his head against his folded hands that were on top of the cane, Nahoan tried to calm himself. This was merely a setback; there was still time to figure out a way to return to his family being it this week or next year. Suddenly a damp cloth was put over his nose and mouth from behind. The attack shocked him he hadn't heard anyone approaching. Grabbing the arm he tried to free himself, but the cloth smelled funny and his head started buzzing. As the darkness he did not want closed down on him he saw the sneering face of Adare, his father's stable master.

Time after that was a period of consciousness filled with nausea and pain, and sleep filled with nightmares. He wasn't sure how long he was kept in this forced existence but eventually he awoke to the smell of hay. Something cold was poured over his head to wake him up completely. Shaking the water from his hair he looked up at Adare standing over him.

Nahoan went to demand what the hell was going on but found the ability to speak was lost to him. His hands were chained to the wall on either side of him. All he could do was stare up at the man towering over him with a look of disbelief and confusion. "Sorry about this, child," the stable master said kneeling. "Need to keep you here a bit longer. The Master says the Rangers have stopped looking for you, certain you somehow made it back to your human family. Master Suntouched is heartbroken … with your return I will be a hero in his eyes. However, we must first fix this wanderlust you possess." The elf in front of him took out a wicked looking needle. There was little Nahoan could do as the elder elf grabbed his right arm and injected him. At first there was a burning sensation that was followed with a feeling of bliss and a hunger he wasn't aware of having at first was sedated. "Feels good don't it?" Adare said with a smirk as he pulled the needle out. "Have you up to six shots a day." Nahoan looked over at his right arm; it was a track of scabbed puncture wounds. "Though, this is your last one for today. I want you to crash and know what it feels like."

Nahoan shook his head; the man was totally out of his mind. Adare patted him on the shoulder. "Sorry about undoing all of Priestess Belestra's work, it was more fragile than I thought it would be." Looking over at his left arm he noticed painful looking sores going up his arm, he imagined it continued down his back that was pressed against the rough wooden wall. He wondered why he felt no pain; it had to be the shot of whatever Adare had given to him. "All right," Adare said taking out a canteen. "You're going to be really thirsty here in a bit, best drink while you can."

Opening his mouth he left the stable master pour some of the cool liquid in. As the flask left his lips he spit it back in the face of his jailor. That earned him a slap across his cheek. He retaliated by kicking Adare hard, he had aimed for his crotch but the other turned in time so it just hit his thigh. After that Adare moved out of the range of Nahoan. "Prideful little ass," he said. "Just wait, by tonight you'll be begging me for your fix and I'll be sitting over there enjoying your agony."

What the hell was going on? He looked around the small building he was being held in, it didn't look familiar. Except for him and Adare all there was the hay he was resting on and a pot in the corner which by the odor he could guess what that was used for. The other followed his gaze. "Ah yes, no more cleaning you up now that you're awake. Though after that little display you can just piss yourself for all I care. I'll be back later, for now I must return to your father's side. He is awful distraught, seems you had an argument before you parted." He walked out the door and Nahoan heard something heavy lock in to place. He waited listening to the retreating sounds of feet, the noise stopped sooner than it should have so he remained still until he heard them retreat out range. Only then did he study the shackles that held him pinned to the wall. They were very secure; it frightened him to think the stable master had put some thought into this. He had to wonder if he was the first to be held here. He tried shouting and was met with the same lack of voice as earlier.

After he counted to five-hundred he wet his lips, while most Rangers used their fingers to whistle, he did not. He let out the distress call of all Farstriders, counting to ten he repeated it, when there was no immediate answer he knew he must be away from the vineyard. He repeated the call every few seconds until he heard running feet outside. There hadn't been an answer so he knew who it was as the door flew open he whistled again. This time it was cut short by Adare's hand. Nahoan bit down on the palm and as Adare pulled back he whistled again. Once more it was stopped this time by a sharp slap. His jaw was painfully pulled apart and a dirty cloth stuffed into his mouth.

"You just have to make this harder than it has to be," Adare snarled. He tied a gag around Nahoan's mouth. In the distance they heard a whistle and the Stable Master smiled darkly. "They'll never be able to pinpoint where the sound came from that far away. But please do hope … it will make your despair even sweeter." After making sure he was secure, Adare once again left him alone.

The sunlight peeking in from under the door eventually faded at the same time the first twinge of discomfort started. At first he blamed the lack of food; he wondered when the last time he ate was. Then the aches from his left arm and back began and he knew it was the "crash" Adare had spoken about earlier. The craving started next and he had no idea what it was he yearned for. Food no longer seemed important. The knocking startled him and he wondered for a moment if someone had found him when he realized it the sound of his hands banging against the wall as they trembled. He seemed in total lack of control of his body at the moment and it frightened him.

By the time Adare appeared his body was covered with sweat and the cloth in his mouth soaked from the drool he couldn't control. Through feverish eyes he watched as the other hung a lantern up on nail. "Hurts don't it?" Nahoan glared at him. "Such eyes, they best get a kinder look in them by tomorrow if you want me take away your suffering. For now you can stew in your juices. It shouldn't kill you." Adare spread out a blanket on the far side of the shack. "Sweet dreams, child," he said as he blew out the lantern. In the dark Nahoan saw him lie down facing toward his prisoner.

"_Enjoy the show, sick bastard,"_ Nahoan thought to himself. It dawned on him his anguish was similar to what he felt like when he lost his ring. A glance told him he still wore it … so, was there something else he was going without? _"Up to six shots a day …"_ Six shots of what?

A hellish night passed filled with welcome moments of darkness and way too many of being awake and unable to control his thrashing body. At one point he was sure he was going to beat his head against the wall until it or his skull broke. Eventually the elf at the other end of the room stirred as the sun came up. Stretching Adare looked over at him. "Sleep well," he asked with a smirk.

His face damp with tears of exhaustion Nahoan looked down. "All right, child," Adare said approaching, "time to show you the magic of my bloodthistle elixir, though if you want more you'll have to be a good boy from here on out." Roughly grabbing his trembling arm Adare took a syringe and jabbed it into his flesh. Almost instantly the warmth shot through his body and he let out a content sigh. His pain lessened and soon vanished all together. This time Nahoan greedily drunk the water offered after his gag was removed. The stable master let him drink as much as he wanted, before drawing a drink for himself which he spewed over Nahoan a moment later. "Pay backs are hell," he said coolly, "remember that." Rummaging through a pack he had brought with him, he took out a loaf of bread and broke off a piece. He offered it to Nahoan, famished he had no choice but to open his mouth and let the man feed him. After half the loaf had been consumed Adare sat back on his heels and studied him.

"So how do you like my bloodthistle elixir?" he asked. "It's a thousand time more potent than smoking the leaves. Makes you think clearer as well as takes away your worries. Heard you were pretty upset about killing some green-skins how about now? Where is that concern?"

Nahoan didn't like thinking about the deaths he had caused, however at the moment it was hard to care. His mind was still riding the rush from the drug. He looked over at Adare, confused. The stable master laughed. Standing up he reached into his pack and brought out a second needle. Rolling up his own sleeve Adare injected himself. "Yeah," he said with a grin, "good stuff … of course I only take one or two a day. You child, have to take a half-dozen just to fight off the tremors. And I am the only elf in all of Silvermoon that can make it. So when we return next week you are going to be the most humble and loving son any father could ask for. As your reward I'll keep you on an even keel. Should you decide to leave then who will take away the trembles and the pain? No this way you'll never want to depart Silvermoon again!"

Crazy … the elf before he was a complete lunatic, Nahoan thought with dread. He needed to sleep it had been hours since he rested and his body was exhausted but the drug flowing through him was keeping him awake with its unnatural edge. Just then a Farstrider call went out, still far away but to Nahoan's trained ear it was closer than yesterday's. Adare moved quickly and had his gag replaced and tied tight before he even thought of returning the whistle.

"Bothersome Rangers," Adare mumbled under his breath, "just give up already. It's your fault they are even out there. Guess I won't be back to sedate your withdrawal until late tonight again." He stood and patted Nahoan on the head. "I would try to rest before the tremors start."

It was sometime after lunch that he lost all ability to reason. Instead as his soul rejected the body it was bound to, he filled his moments of conscious with trying to rip the damn shackles, which held him, out of the wall. The blood streaming down from both wrists fascinated him, as the cold metal bit into the softer flesh. Gathering up his frantic energy he got up on his feet and lunged forward again. The only thing to give was the flesh around his wrist. He watched the new crimson rivers run down his arms; somewhere in the back of his feverish mind he knew he should be concerned about the loss of blood.

When the door finally opened and Adare stepped inside, Nahoan could only wonder at what the scene must look like. His struggles had opened new wounds on his arms and back, at some point he had soiled himself but he couldn't remember when or even care. The stable master stared at him aghast for a moment and then alarm took over. "No … by the Sunwell, he won't forgive me for a corpse!" As he moved toward him, Nahoan got his legs under him once more and lunged forward causing the elder to jump back. As with the dozens of previous attempt all this one did was manage to hurt him more. "Stop it!" Adare commanded, moving quickly he pressed himself against Nahoan as he thrashed around keeping him pinned against the wall. At the same time he plunged a needle into his captive's thigh, the injection had little effect on his shakes so there was a second syringe and jab.

Nahoan let out a sound between a gasp and scream as he body shuddered, the drugs coursing through his body. "Fuck … fuck … fuck," Adare mumbled as he stood and paced the small room. "I passed two Ranger units on my way here tonight, they are going to find you soon … you're not ready."

There was a brilliant flash of light that blinded Nahoan, as his vision cleared he saw Adare and Helios struggling on the ground. His friend must have thrown a flare in the open the door. Adare knocked Helios aside the ranger quickly moved in front of Nahoan. "What in the hell are you doing?" Helios demanded. "By the Sunwell, you're killing him, you sick bastard!"

"I am not," Adare said wiping a hand across his busted lip. "I am just reassuring he never leaves his father again. It is no different from the bracer you forced him to wear, just a less visible bond."

"Baby," Helios said not taking his eyes off Adare. "It's going to be okay, the others are close they'll be here soon … just hold on."

Adare charged and Helios met him head on. However, his friend was a distance fighter and Adare quickly showed he was more of a hand-to-hand combatant. Helios was going to lose; the stable master got a choke hold around Helios neck. Nahoan lunged again and this time the right shackle broke free of the wall with a great splintering sound. Reaching forward he grabbed Adare's shoulder and jerked him back off balance, leaving behind a set of bloody streaks across his shoulder. Free, Helios backed up gasping for breath. Adare went to charge again when he staggered back, buried in his right shoulder was an arrow. Halduron stepped inside the room another arrow already nocked.

"I missed on purpose," he said calmly, "because you are a Quel'dorei and the court should decide your fate. However, if you so much as blink I'll put an arrow between your eyes and call it justice."

The next few second happened in slow motion for Nahoan. His Captain's look of dismay as he looked over at him, the slight waver of his bow, the quick movement from Adare as something silver flashed in his hand … Helios shouted warning as he dove toward Nahoan shielding him with his body. His friend gasped as the knife aimed for him, struck Helios in the back and finally the arrow of Halduron striking Adare from behind. The stable master stared at the arrow coming out of his chest as he fell to his knees. "I did … it ... for the Master … no hope for him now." He crumpled and laid still.

"Helios," Halduron said shouldering his bow and hurrying over.

"I'm fine, Captain," Helios said, "It doesn't seem to have hit anything important just burns a bit. By the Sunwell, what did he do to you, baby brother? Why?"

As Helios worked to untie the gag from his mouth, Halduron let out a shrill whistle that was echoed by dozens outside. Looking through Adare's pockets he found the key to Nahoan's shackles. After freeing his wrists Halduron took off his mail breastplate to reach the cotton shirt beneath. This one he tore into strips and wrapped them around Nahoan's bleeding wrists. "Can you tell me what happened here?"

Nahoan went to speak but found his words still lost from him. Frowning Halduron ran a hand down his neck. "A silencing rune, let me get rid of that bothersome … okay now, you should be able to speak."

"I want to go home," Nahoan said.

The small hut was suddenly filled with Rangers. There were shouts, gasps and soft hands on his bleeding flesh as those that knew first aid tried their best to ready him for travel. In the end it was Halduron picked him up like a child and held him close. Nahoan's bandaged hand found the elder's ponytail and held onto it as he pleaded to go home.

"I know, soon, I promise" Halduron said softly, "to your true home … I promise."


	49. Chapter 49

**Chapter Forty-Nine – **_Foster Conway, Age 23_

Weeks after his father and comrades had freed him, Foster and his pa stood before the gate to Thalassian Pass. At Thane Maz's insistence they had stayed with the Wildhammer Clan in Aerie Peak for a few days, letting Foster recover. The dwarven healers had worked wonders on his back fading the old scars until they were almost invisible. Foster appreciated their healing, though he wished the wounds to his soul were as easily mended. At least now though, the rest of his family wouldn't know the full extent of his torturous year. He kept the rough scars around his wrists to remind himself of his foolishness and as a reminder that there was always hope even when things were at their worst.

After a week with the dwarves they had continued their trek north. Foster had been overjoyed to find Bishop in the stables at Aerie Peak. He had wondered over the past year if the horse had made it back. When he asked about the ring his pa took the chain he wore around his neck with the ring, and offered it Foster. He slipped it on; it made him feel connected to his brother. They had sent Carlin home soon after they arrived at the dwarves to tell their family they were safe and would be home only after they retrieved Nathaniel or at least news of him. It was hard for his father to ride past their home and Foster had offered to go on by himself, which got him a stern look. They avoided Corin's Crossing all together, taking to the countryside. Foster hadn't figure out what he would say to Bethany and wasn't sure what he wanted any more when it came to her. Eventually the large Iron Gate to Quel'Thalas stood before them.

"So," Foster said pulling up on the reins of Bishop. "Do we have a plan?"

"To ask nicely," his pa said.

"Do you think …" Foster paused, "do you think, he has been well cared for?"

"The elf that took him spoke of your brother being a treasure to the High Elf people. I'm sure we will find him sitting in silks, eating grapes …" his father said.

"I pray you are right," Foster replied. "I just want him to be happy … then all I went through … my worse nightmares were of Nathaniel being enslaved with me, used against me …" For the first time in over a year he felt tears starting to build and quickly blinked them back. Now was not the time.

A callused hand squeezed his. "Let's go see your brother," his father said, "so we can put those fear aside and move on with or without him in our lives."

As they approached the gate two High Elves appeared in battle armor. "Halt in the name of King Anasterian! What is your business in Quel'Thalas, humans?"

"Just a friendly visit," his father said, "beyond these gates lays an elfin child I raised since birth. I and my son just want to …"

"Conway?" the elf on the right said, surprising both Foster and his father. His pa nodded and the two elves spoke quickly in a language he couldn't understand. "Follow Guardian Rinahi," the elf said, "he'll take you to Silvermoon, you've been expected."

"Well," Foster said as the gate was raised and they were allowed to pass through. "I have to be honest; I didn't think that would work."

"Aye," his pa said as they waited for their guide to mount his flamboyant cockatrice. "I am torn between relief and apprehension." He raised his voice, "Guardian Rinahi, your comrade said we were expected, what did he mean by that? My son was taken over a year ago, has it been a standing order since then?"

"Nay," Rinahi replied, "the order came less than a week ago."

Foster raised an eyebrow and his father shrugged. It was evening by the time their escort stopped outside a fancy stone building in a small elfin village. "It is late," he said, "We'll stay here at the inn for the night and start out first thing in the morning. Perhaps, the two of you would like to bathe before eating?" The elf wrinkled his nose.

"I'm not sure that was request," his father said with a smirk. "Is there a pump or something we can use to scrub down?"

"A pump?" the elf chuckled. "There is a bathe house located behind the inn, let me speak to the innkeeper and set up our lodging for the night. You two may head to the showers, do you have a change of fresh clothes or do you require laundry service?"

Turning his face away from the elf, Foster rolled his eyes. "We've been riding for weeks," his pa replied. "We can just wash our clothes out in the shower…"

"You will do no such thing," the other chided. "Just leave them on the ground outside the showers, they will be gathered and cleaned. There will be plush robes to wear in the mean time. Leave your horses here, the stable master will collect them and bed them down for the night."

"When in Quel'Thalas," his father said as their guide walked into the inn, "do as the High Elves do. Come on, son, stop with the juvenile displays and let's go get cleaned up."

Foster chuckled and followed his pa around the inn; there was a small building there with benches outside. They could hear water running and steam coming out from the open door. Sitting down on a bench Foster slid his boots off and then pulled his shirt and pants off leaving them as asked in a pile he stepped into the shower and froze. Across the way was a pair of High Elves females, enjoying the warm water of a shower. They seemed just a surprised to see him as he they.

"Excuse me," he mumbled turning to leave and running into his father. His sire glanced over his shoulder and Foster saw him blush.

As they walked out of the shower they found their guide, Rinahi busy removing his own clothes. He raised a slender eyebrow at their retreat. "Is the water too warm?" he asked.

"No, sir," Foster said. "The showers are just occupied at the moment."

"Ah," Rinahi said nodding, "it's a communal shower, and everyone in town uses it. Surely being naked in front of others isn't a concern?"

"Um … there are two females in there," Foster said again, feeling his cheeks grow warm.

"And?" the elf asked, and then he said. "Humans are so peculiar …" he walked over to the door and spoke in his birth tongue. A moment later the two women left the shower, still naked as they day they were born and Foster averted his eyes. They laughed at his discomfort as they grabbed two robes from the shower's outer wall.

"Son, cover yourself," his father chided.

Foster glanced over at his father to see him holding a shirt in front of his manhood. It never dawned on Foster to cover himself up, being naked for so long in captivity he wasn't embarrassed at his own nudity just at the females being naked in front of him. The women's eyes moved down his naked body and their snickers turned to looks of appreciation. With a grunt his pa put something in front of him as Rinahi, naked but unconcerned, escorted the women away.

Foster escaped into the shower room followed by his father. The warm water pouring over his head felt wonderful. He eyed the variety of bottles sitting on the shelves around the shower. "Um, Pa," he said, "you see any soap?"

Rinahi reappeared and pointed out a bottle. "This is a facial scrub use it on your face only, this one is a body-wash, it can be used on the rest of you, this bottle here has shampoo in it, you use it on your hair … after the shampoo use this one on your hair but let it sit for awhile before you rinse it."

Foster stared at the array of bottles in disbelief. His father shrugged and grabbed the smaller bottle of facial scrub and used it on his face, offering it to Foster afterwards. Following the instructions from their elfin companion they quickly cleaned up. Afterwards using a razor to clean off their stubble, this got them another lotion to use on their cheeks and jaw. It was cool and had a minty smell to it. When they stepped out of the shower they found their clothes gone but Rinahi assured them they would be returned in the morning as they slid on the white robes outside. Barefoot they walked back to the inn where they were shown to their room, inside was a table laden with fruits, smoking pieces of meat, bread and other treats.

Before joining his father at the table Foster walked over to a full length mirror and let his robe fall to the ground. Eating regularly had filled him back out, to the weight he was before the naga's forced fast. He was muscular but lean; he turned around slowly and looked at his back. It took knowing what to look for to find the light outline of the Bs the rest of the scars were gone.

"I'm trying to eat here," his father said with a smirk.

Foster returned the grin as he pulled the robe up over himself. "Sorry," Foster said sitting down on a cushion near the low table. "Been a long time since I felt this unsoiled, if Baby Brother has been getting treated like this, there is no way in hell he's coming home with us. I mean hot water shower? Not even Stratholme has such things … maybe I'll stay here and watch over my brother."

"And break your mother's heart?" his pa said.

Foster frowned and shook his head. "It was just a joke, Pa, I wouldn't … couldn't do that, and I'll go home with you …just need to know about Nathaniel first."

His pa fell quiet as they finished their dinner afterwards he stood up and stretched looking around the room. "There is only one large bed," he said, "I hope you don't steal all the covers."

"Nah," Foster said standing and moving the now empty tray out to the hallway and shutting the door. "Nathaniel was the blanket stealer."

His father dropped down on the bed. "After weeks of sleeping on the ground this feels like heaven," he said.

Foster crawled in on the far side. His sire was correct; it had been a long time since he had slept in something so soft. And in the warm embrace he found himself asleep moments after lying down.


	50. Chapter 50

**Chapter Fifty – **_Thomas Conway, Age 46_

He awoke to the feeling of a warm body pressed against him. His first thought was of Norah but as he opened his eyes and saw the room he was in, he remembered where he was. Which meant when he glanced down it was his son who had nestled close, his back to him. For a moment he could easily picture a dark haired toddler wedged between his parents during a thunderstorm, when the whole family slept together on the loft. However, it was very much a young man which rested peacefully next to him. As awkward it was for him to have another man in such an intimate position he could not find fault in his son. How many nights did he spend naked with only a naga as company? His son had never spoken of his captivity and Thomas didn't ask, not yet. When he was ready he would talk.

He took time to study his son, the dwarf healers and regular eating had done wonders to his body. He was only slightly under the weight he had been, though he wore his captivity on his face; etched lines that should only be found on aged war veterans. Not the face a young man not even twenty-five. He sensed a subtle change in his son's breathing and closed his eyes. Foster startled himself awake. Thomas wondered what dreams his son had, as his eldest sat up in bed. There was a movement in the bed as the warmth left his side and Foster moved further away. After counting to a hundred slowly Thomas stretched and opened his eyes. Sitting up he found Foster at the edge of the bed on the far side, his back to him.

"You awake?" he asked.

Foster looked over his shoulder at him, his long hair tussled with sleep. "Yes, sir," he said. "Did you sleep well?"

"Like a rock," he admitted as he sat up. Pulling on a robe he walked over to the door and opened it. Outside, as promised, were two stacks of clothing and a tray with fruit and some kind of warm cereal. Gathering it all up he shut the door and sat the breakfast on the table before tossing Foster his clean clothes.

The men quickly dressed. "I think they pressed my denims," Foster said with a chuckle.

"Aye, they repaired the torn hems on mine and the missing button on my shirt," Thomas said.

After running a comb through his long hair Foster pulled it back in a low ponytail. "I think I like the elf stuff for my hair," he said as he joined Thomas at the table. They ate quickly and were just finishing when there was a knock on the door. Outside Rinahi was waiting. "Are you gentlemen ready?" he asked.

"Aye," Thomas replied. "Is there anything we can do to take care of the cost of our stay?"

"Nay, the Master Suntouched has taken care of everything."

"Who is Master Suntouched?" Foster asked as he followed the elf down the stairs.

"He is Nahoan's father," Rinahi replied.

"Nahoan is?" Foster asked, his frustration starting to show.

"My apologies," the elf said, "it is the name given to the elf child you raised."

Thomas wasn't sure what hurt the worse, hearing another man as his son's father or his new name. He assumed the name was to blend in better with the flowery names of the other elves. Outside they found their horses saddled and ready to go. The innkeeper gave each them of a sack lunch to eat as they rode and they were off. They had traveled about an hour when two High Elves approached at a gallop on the back of Hawkstriders. They pulled up as the trio rode past, then fell in step behind them.

Thomas glanced over his shoulder; the pair of elves had bows and quivers. One was a stunning female with long blond hair, the other a male equally as handsome with the same hair in color and length.

"I don't remember requesting an escort from the Farstriders," Rinahi said coolly.

"When we received news last night that Nahoan's family had appeared, Captain Brightwing ordered us to meet you," the female replied. She smiled at Thomas, "Ranger Swiftwind at your service, sir, your son is a member of my squad we consider him our brother. He saved my life recently when we were attacked by the forest trolls to the east."

"Brother," Foster said softly, "So you watched out for him?"

The two elves suddenly looked distressed. "We tried to do the best within our powers," the male Ranger said after a long pause. "Our brother didn't always appreciate our efforts … and then …"

"It is best if you speak to Captain Brightwing first," the woman named Swiftwind interrupted.

A cold stone appeared in Thomas's gut and he looked over at Foster who wore his concern on his face.

"Master Suntouched will fill the humans in when we reach Silvermoon," Rinahi said tersely.

"I was hoping to speak to my brother directly," Foster said.

The trio of elves exchanged looks but didn't say anything more as they urged their mounts on. Foster looked over at him stricken. "Be calm," Thomas whispered, "whatever they aren't telling us will be revealed soon."

They ate their lunch on the back of the horses as they rode, through a forest where the leaves were a brilliant orange. A couple of hours later a gleaming white wall appeared in the horizon. "The wall surrounding Silvermoon," Rinahi said, "we're almost there."

As they approached one of the ornate archways an armed squadron of High Elves appeared. Rinahi pulled up and held up his hand motioning Thomas and Foster to do the same.

"King Anasterian sends his regards, humans," one of the elves said. "He also requests you leave all weapons in our care."

They had very few weapons; he took the rifle from his saddle and the small dagger from his boot. "My son carries none," Thomas said, offering the elf the pair he possessed.

The elf motioned for them to dismount, where they were patted down. After a quick look through their belongings they mounted back up and the company of armed elves fell in step with them. Once in the city proper they were led past elegant buildings, which shimmered with red and gold. The elves on the streets hurried out of their way and then gawked as they rode past.

"It has been a long time since a human has been allowed within Silvermoon," Swiftwind said, "I apologize for their rudeness."

Thomas nodded his understanding. After numerous twist and turns the group stopped outside one of the ornate buildings. "You can leave your mounts here," Rinahi said. "They will be stabled for you."

Hopping down Thomas grabbed his pack and slung it over his shoulder. He followed their guide into a plush sitting room. "Please, have a seat," Rinahi said, "There is a fully stocked bar if you desire, I'll return shortly."

Thomas noticed they had lost their ranger shadows; they must have gone off to report to their Captain. Foster walked over to the aforementioned bar and took out a pair of shot glasses. After sniffing at the different flasks of liquor he poured something into the tumblers and brought one back to his father. "No idea what it is," he said, "but it smells strong." They swallowed it in one gulp.

It burnt all the way down and Thomas gasped. "Damn," he said. Just then there was a gut wrenching scream and the pair of men stood up.

"Nathaniel!" Foster yelled as he ran out of the room, Thomas close on his heels. The same terrible yell came again and without speaking they ran up the stairs taking them two and three at time. They were met on the landing by a woman dressed in a robe. "Please wait!" she said, "please for your son's sake I must speak to you first."

Thomas grabbed Foster's arm stopping him. They didn't need to tick off the elves now, not when they were so close to Nathaniel. His son gave him a dark look but stopped. "Then I suggest you speak quickly, my Lady," Thomas said.

She motioned to a room off to the side, "Please, come in, this is going to take a bit to explain."

At that moment there was another scream followed by loud sobbing, it took all of Thomas's strength not to tear down the damn doors until he found his child. Foster did not share his patience and struggled against his father's hold. The woman stepped forward and laid a hand on his eldest's chest, "It will be okay," she said gently, "he is safe; if you want to help your brother you must listen to me." Thomas was betting it was more the touch of the woman than her words which calmed his son. She had magically soothed his temper and he followed her into the room she had gestured to a moment ago.

"I'll try to speak as plainly and quickly as I can," she said, "my name is Belestra I'm a priestess and have been the primary caregiver of Nahoan since he arrived in Silvermoon. Your son was ill for the first couple of months after his arrival; after extensive testing we came to realize he was fighting the power of the Sunwell. The very source of our magic and being, to have a High Elf do such a thing is unheard of. We never could establish the cause but we found having him wear a Sunwell Ring helped considerably. To this day I wonder if it was a conscious effort on his part to reject his heritage."

Foster pulled out the ring attached to the chain around his neck. "This is the one he's worn since birth," he said.

"So it was returned to you, that is good," she replied, "keep it, we had a new one crafted for him. Just do not flaunt it; there are those here which would not let you retain it. Once we figured out what was causing his sickness Nahoan quickly recovered his strength and vigor. To assure that he remained with the High Elves an enchanted bracer was made …"

"My son was a prisoner?" Thomas said, "I was told he would be treasured and loved."

"And that he is," Belestra said, "however, your son is also headstrong and one-tracked, we needed him to remain with us … to learn from us … in the end it is us who learned from him." She seemed to lose herself in thought for a minute. "Please, let me talk … all will be clear when I am finished. The bracer was the most civilized and humane way we could think of. Should he overstep his boundaries it would teleport him back to the heart of the city. At first those borders were the walls of Silvermoon and after trust was gained it broadened to the river to the south."

"A little over two weeks ago, the magic of the bracer was activated …"

"My brother tried to leave?" Foster interrupted.

"Not this time," Belestra said, "but yes there were numerous attempts as he tested integrity of the bracer's magic. This time though it was intentional … his Ranger squad was under attack by a large force of trolls, he used the magic of the bracer to come to Silvermoon for aid."

"Ranger squad …" Foster started.

"Nahoan is quite skilled with a bow," a new voice said. "It was decided about a year ago to let him have the freedom to use it."

Thomas studied the new arrival, like most High Elves he had seen; this gentleman had the same long blond hair and brilliant blue eyes as his son. The elf bowed, "Captain Halduron Brightwing at your service, your son is under my command."

"Halduron …" Foster mumbled and the next moment his fist collided with the fair elf's cheek.

"Foster!" Thomas shouted as he quickly jumped up and wrapped a strong arm around his son. "What are you doing?"

The elf named Halduron rubbed the side of his face and look distastefully at Foster.

"He was there," Foster growled. "He was with the elves which took Nathaniel and left me with the bandits …"

"We assumed you would be ransomed to your family," Halduron said.

"You assumed wrong," Foster said darkly, "I spent a year in hell because of you!"

Halduron looked upset. "I don't understand …"

"No," Foster said, the anger leaving his voice as quickly as it arrived, "and you never will." He motioned his hand at Belestra, "my apologies, ma'am, please continue … my brother used the shackle to return to town …"

Belestra nodded, "once here, our Grand Magister used his magic to reverse the power of the bracer and return a large force of High Elves to the river …"

"He saved our lives," Halduron whispered.

"However, there was a great oversight in the Magister's calculations and the magic broke free of the bracer, damaging Nahoan's body. Even wounded so your son's only thought was to return to the home he had known since birth. He almost died trying. I, along with a dozen priests were able to reform his flesh anew … however, something terrible happened. All Quel'dorei pride themselves on their integrity … but even so, we have a few that succumb to a more primal path. Nahoan was taken by one such elf. In his mind I am sure Adare thought he was doing him a favor, he could not fathom why anyone would want to leave the glory of the Quel'dorei. Though only in the madman's hands for a little over a week, he did terrible damage to your son's body and mind."

"There is a pleasure drug most High Elves use socially, it come from an herb only found in our forest called Bloodthistle. Used moderately it gives you a slight buzz and helps calm you. If you smoke too much you can experience a period of want afterwards but after an hour you're fine. I used the smoke of Bloodthistle with Nahoan soon after he arrived to help him keep calm. Though was always careful to purge it from his system after we were done. The elf that took Nahoan and held him captive, his intent as far as we can piece together when your son is coherent, was to get him addicted to Bloodthistle to the point of not being able to function without it, and to do so he took drastic means."

Thomas wanted nothing more than to take his sons and run as far away as he could from these fanatical elves but he knew there was more he had to know. He kept a firm grip on Foster.

"Adare was able to make an extract from Bloodthistle," Belestra continued, "a highly potent and addictive elixir, which he injected straight into Nahoan's bloodstream … by the time we freed your son the bastard had him addicted to astonishing amount of the serum. Alchemists have been studying the only vial of it we could find intact, but without success. There is little we can do as Nahoan suffers through the horrific withdrawal, except try to keep him from hurting himself. Because of his thrashing and bouts of rage we have been unable to treat the wounds. We need him to calm down and rest. He even resists my magical sleep spells, I'm not sure he's had more than five minute naps in a week. He'll die soon if we can't heal him."

"I was prepared to send a squad to your house in Darrowmere Forest the same time I received news that you had arrived in Blackened Woods. If I doubted miracles before I no longer do," Halduron said.

"Can we see him now?" Thomas asked.

"I just wanted you to know what lay ahead of you," Belestra said nodding. "We truly did try to do right by him."

Thomas nodded stiffly as he let Foster go and they followed the elves out of the room and down the hall. A male elf with short auburn hair stepped out of a room, shutting the door behind him. He looked stricken.

"Master Suntouched," Belestra said, "you shouldn't have come again …"

"He's my son," the elf said, "how could I not …" he noticed Thomas and Foster and a range of emotions played over his face. "I tried …" he said sadly.

Thomas reached over and squeezed the other man's shoulder. "Our son is strong, he'll overcome this," he said.

Foster motioned to the door. "He's in there?" he asked.

Belestra nodded.


	51. Chapter 51

**Chapter Fifty-One – **_Foster Conway, Age 23_

Foster stepped into the dimly lit room which held his brother, he wasn't sure what to expect after all the news the priestess Belestra had given them. His father and Belestra followed and shut the door. As his eyes adjusted to the room he noticed it was bare except for a mattress in the far corner. There was also a lingering odor of urine that flora scents were unsuccessfully trying to hide it.

"We had to strip the room to stop him from hurting himself or others," Belestra explained. "Bright light seems to hurt his eyes so we put shutters outside the windows to block the sun."

There was movement on the mattress and he realized there was a huddled form on top of it. As he stepped forward, his father grabbed his arm. "Go slow," he said softly, then released him to hang back by the door with the elf maiden.

Foster moved to the middle of the room and knelt down. "Hey, baby brother," he said gently, "seems we both will have stories to tell once we're out of here."

Nathaniel said something in a language he didn't understand, Belestra translated for him, "He thinks you're an illusion," she said.

"No, baby brother, I'm no fantasy … I've come to take you home." Foster said. There was a subtle change in his brother's form and though surprised by the intention he was not caught off guard when Nathaniel charged him.

"Nahoan … no!" Belestra shouted.

Foster gently grabbed his brother and turned him around so he was bear hugging him from behind. Nathaniel's entire body seemed to be wrapped up in soiled bandages. His father moved forward and joined the embrace, rubbing a hand down the back of Nathaniel's head. "It's okay, my son," he said. He grunted as Nathaniel bit down on his shoulder. "Hurt's doesn't it," his father said keeping is voice calm. Foster barely missed being head-butted when Nathaniel jerked.

"Nathaniel Conway, you stop right this minute!" Their father said tensely.

Nathaniel shuddered in Foster's embrace. "Pa?" he whispered, "Pa it hurts so bad."

"Just for now," Foster whispered in his brother's ear. "It won't hurt forever; we Conways are too tough for that."

"Brother?" Nathaniel said, "I missed you … so bad … I tried …" the sobs started and Foster pulled him down to the ground and held him close while he cried.

"I know you did, baby brother," Foster said, "I did too … it took longer than we thought but we're together again." He rocked his brother speaking softly and eventually he felt him relax. "That's it, just sleep for now," Foster said.

For the first time in along time Foster felt his cheeks grow damp with tears. "He was supposed to be happy," he said.

His father's hand reached behind his neck as he pressed his forehead against Foster's. They didn't speak but sat there protectively over Nathaniel as he slept. Too soon his brother's body trembled and he awoke with a silent scream, he grabbed one hand and his father the other. They waited for the spasm to end; it seemed to go on and on.

"Breathe through it," his father said, "slowly … slowly … that's it … it will be over soon." Coaxed by the words Nathaniel ragged breaths calmed down. The brilliant blue eyes looked between the two of them for a moment.

"I thought it was a dream," Nathaniel said. "But you're really here …" his breath caught and he shuddered. "… and I'm like this … sorry … they truly took better care of me than this. Don't hate them …"

"To hate them would be to hate a part of you," their father said, rubbing a hand across Nathaniel's balmy forehead. "I love you, my son."

"Love you too, Pa," his fingers tightened around Foster's as his body shivered.

"Nahoan," the priestess knelt down beside them, Foster had thought she'd left. "I'm going to lay a hand on your ankle; I need to see if there is any infection." Touching Nathaniel's left ankle she closed her eyes and was still. After a long moment she spoke again, "there is some inflammation on your left shoulder and lower back. I've cooled them for now. I will need to start treating your skin lesions soon. So far all we've been able to do is patch up the bandages; you really are in dire need of healing. For now though I am going to leave you and your family in peace, I think they are the best medicine for you. Please, if you need anything don't hesitate to ask. I'll have a couple of fresh mats brought in to sleep on." The last part was directed at Foster and his father.

Their pa motioned at the blackened windows. "Remove those damn covers," he said, "this place is a dark a tomb, and my son needs fresh air and sunlight on his cheeks."

"As I mentioned the light was bother …"

"Trust me," their father said and the elf maiden nodded.

"Are you hungry?" Foster asked his brother.

"Starving," Nathaniel said, his teeth suddenly chattering, "hard to keep anything down, though."

"I'll have some chicken broth brought to you," Belestra said, "as well as dinner for the rest of you. I'll be outside if you need me … keep him as still as possible, let him rest when he can … but don't fight him too much you'll just reopen his wounds."

Foster took off his shirt so his chest was bare and sat down on the floor behind Nathaniel; his legs crossed and motioned for him to sit in his lap. "I'm a little big for that, Brother," his teeth chattering so bad the words were hard to understand.

"Sit," Foster said. Nathaniel sat down and Foster wrapped his arms tightly around him. Their father draped a warm blanket over both of them. Foster was almost instantly too hot but his brother seemed to enjoy the warmth.

"I'm dirty and I stink," Nathaniel said with a sigh.

"Not even close to the smells I've had to deal with," Foster said with a chuckle.

"What do you mean?" Nathaniel asked as his shivering relented.

"Ask me again another day," Foster said softly.

"Here comes another," Nathaniel said.

Foster didn't have to ask what he meant as he felt his brother's body's tense. "I'm here," he said tightening his hold, "breathe through it, and don't let the pain own you." Their father knelt down in front of them and took Nathaniel's hands, letting him squeeze them as the tremor worked its way through.

"Fuck!" Nathaniel shouted, "It hurts so bad, why … why did he do this to me?"

"I don't know, Baby Brother," Foster said sadly, "I don't know … but you have to fight this. Ma is waiting for us, you can do it."

"Ma …" Nathaniel said between gasps, "how's is she doing? And our sisters …"

"Your ma is doing fine," their father said, "though she hasn't been quite as feisty as she was before you boys disappeared."

"Boys," Nathaniel said, "you didn't make it back home?" He glanced over his shoulder.

"I ran into some problems," Foster said, "but we'll go home together. How about our sisters Pa …" he changed the subject; he didn't need Nathaniel worrying about him right now.

"Wendy had a boy," their father said, "named the wee one, Nate, after his uncle" Foster loosened his grip as Nathaniel relaxed, his brother leaned his head back so it rested on his shoulder as he listened to his father talk about family. Eventually the soft even breathing told him Nathaniel had dozed back off. The door to the room opened and Belestra appeared carrying a tray. She smiled, "Amazing," she said softly, "rest will be the best medicine for him." She set the food down beside them and reached out pressing a hand on Nathaniel's forehead, there was a soft glow and then she bowed and left.

On the tray were savory cuts of meat, apples, bottle of wine, and few things they couldn't identify, as well as the bowl of broth for Nathaniel when he awoke. Foster ate one-handed, keeping his other arm wrapped around his brother's waist. When he felt the abdominal muscles start to tighten he'd rub his thumb against them until they relaxed, remarkably Nathaniel remained asleep. There were some muted sounds outside the window as the shutters were removed, there wasn't an immediate change in lighting, it had grown dark outside. So only the glow of streetlights entered through the pane.

After they finished eating, the priestess reappeared and cleared the tray leaving a pitcher of water and Nathaniel's cooled broth. She was accompanied by two elves who quickly laid out a couple of plush sleeping mats with blankets and pillows. After once again making sure they understood she was outside if needed, the three of them were left in peace.

"Do you want me to help move him to one of the mats?" his Pa asked.

Foster shook his head. "Let's not risk it," he whispered. "I'm pretty used to sleeping upright. I can rest and keep one eye on him, why don't you get some sleep?" He didn't mention his sitting sleeping habit had been caused by being wrapped up in the coils of a naga. Nodding his father slid his boots off and settled down in one of the makeshift bed.

"Wake me if you need me," he said as he shut his eyes.

Foster adjusted the blanket around them and wrapping his arms around Nathaniel's waist he closed his own eyes. Cool liquid being splashed into his lap awoke him with a start. His brother was having a fit, as he tightened his grip to keep him from falling he noticed Nathaniel held the bowl of broth in his hands. Taking it away he set it down and held him waiting for the tremors to stop.

"Sorry," Nathaniel whispered between gasps. "I didn't want to wake you."

"It's okay," Foster said, "we'll both wash." After a long moment there was one final shudder and Nathaniel let a mix between a sigh and sob. Foster picked up the broth again and held it to Nathaniel's lips letting him drink it straight from the bowl. Afterwards he set his brother to the side carefully as he stood and walked over to the door. Opening it he found a female elf he didn't know sitting on a chair outside.

"Is everything okay?" she asked.

"My brother is awake," Foster replied. "I was wondering if we could have the means to wash ourselves."

"It's in middle of the night," she replied with a frown.

"We'll see what we can do," Belestra said as she appeared from a room across the way. Foster noticed she had dark circles under her eyes.

"Didn't mean to wake you," he said apologetic.

She waved off his apology. "Please return to your brother," she said. "I cannot believe the encouraging effect you are having on him. I'll see what we can do about bathing at this time of night."

Foster stepped back into the darkened room. It took him a moment to find his brother standing over by the window in the light of the street lamp. He was in the process of removing a bandage from his hand. Hurrying over Foster stopped him. "Don't do that," he said. "The blood, skin and bandages are all one."

"They reek," Nathaniel said, "I reek … I want to be clean … I want to get better." Once again Foster picked up the subtle change in Nathaniel's posture so was able to catch him as he fell to his knees. "Fuck," his brother gasped. "It's like getting hit in the gut with a hot poker while fire ants feast on my arms and legs."

"Is that all?" Foster said with a smirk. "You big baby, and here I thought it was bad."

Nathaniel laughed as Foster pulled him close to him. The door to the room opened and in the soft light of lanterns a small army of elves arrived armed with two large tubs which were sat in the middle of the room. The noise woke their father who moved over to them to watch.

Lights were hung up through out the room, giving it warm glow. Then a few sleepy elves stood over the tubs and out of thin air water appeared and splashed down inside. This was repeated a dozen times until Foster could see steam coming out of both bathtubs. Afterwards there was scented oils and bubble bath added. Foster chuckled and Nathaniel whispered, "You ain't seen anything yet, usually there are petals."

One of the elf maidens overheard him. "Do you require, rose petals Master Suntouched?"

Nathaniel shook his head. "Thank you, I'm sure this will be fine."

The room cleared out as quickly as they had come leaving behind the scented baths, variety of soaps and fresh towels. Belestra appeared, the dark circles remained under her eyes but she had changed out of her sleeping gown into a sleeveless shirt and long cotton pants. Her hair auburn hair pulled back into ponytail. "Let's get you into the bath," she said, gesturing to Nathaniel who stood and limped over to her.

As she started helping him undress Foster looked over at his father and raised an eyebrow. "Ma'am we can do that," their pa said.

"It's okay, Pa," Nathaniel replied as she helped him step out of the short pants he had been wearing. His younger brother was now naked except for the bandages he wore.

"By the Light," their pa said as he started forward, "not in front of a woman …"

Nathaniel and Belestra looked over at them, confused. A look of understanding came to his brother. "Oh," he said, "it's okay, Pa, it's an elf thing we aren't shy about our bodies in front of one another."

"I'm not an elf," their father said tensely as he grabbed a towel and wrapped it around Nathaniel's waist.

"Sir," Belestra said with a sigh. "He'll have to be naked before me for his healing. If it helps think of me as his healer instead of a woman, please let me help your son."

Foster shrugged and quickly stripped out of his own clothes. His father glanced over him and then shook his head and mumbled something under his breath as he backed away. Sliding into the hot water of the far tub, he let out a content sigh. Belestra helped his brother into the other one. "Hey, baby brother," he said, "which one of these am I suppose to use on my hair first?"

His brother looked through the bottles sitting next to his tub and finding one he tossed it over his shoulder and Foster caught it. "We're going to need to take some of this home with us," he said as he started washing.


	52. Chapter 52

**Chapter Fifty-Two – **_Nathaniel Conway, Age 21_

He wished he could say since the arrival of Foster and his pa everything had gone smoothly but there had been moments of gut wrenching pain and unjustified anger. All which Foster took in stride, be it comfort or a target for his aggression Foster filled the desire. He quickly learned his brother was a willing and able target to lash out at when the pent up rage became too much. No attack seemed to land and he would fight until exhausted. However, that was months into their stay, after he had been healed. During the first weeks he had been kept in a healing coma and for the first time in years his mind wasn't haunted by nightmares as he slept. Afterwards Belestra slowly allowed him more freedom until he, Foster and his pa were able to walk the streets of Silvermoon unescorted. Today it was just his brother accompanying him as they walked through the street to the Suntouched estate. His stomach started to cramp and he found himself in his brother's embrace, Foster's strong hand massaging his abdomen.

"How you do that?" he asked as the pain faded.

"Hm?" Foster said.

"You seem to know what my body is doing before I do," Nathaniel said, as he broke the hold. "It's getting better; they don't last as long and take longer to return."

"That's good," Foster said falling in step beside him. "We'd get some strange looks in Corin's … as for how I know, I was trained to read the subtle changes in my opponent's body and counter accordingly. I can hear the slight change in your breath and if I'm looking at you directly the muscles across your stomach contract."

"Opponent … brother, what happened after we separated?" Nathaniel asked.

"Later," Foster said softly, his typical answer when Nathaniel asked about the past year.

Nathaniel could relate; he wasn't too excited to share his trials he had endured. As he led them up the cobble path toward the mansion Foster stopped. "You live here?" his brother said in awe and at Nathaniel's nod, "and you want to leave?"

"I want to go home," Nathaniel said softly. "Pa is anxious to leave, don't think he's ever been this long away from the farm or Ma." As they walked up, the butler opened the door before they reached it.

"Young Master," the servant said, "you've been expected! I shall go fetch your father from the winery."

"Thank you," Nathaniel said, "We'll be in my room." Taking his brother's arm he led the astonished Foster up the stairs to his bedroom. Once inside he noticed numerous trunks packed already.

"Um," Foster said looking around. "We'd have to build an addition to the house just to hold all that."

Nathaniel chuckled. He started going through the trunks, taking out an item here and there. In one he found the bear he had taken those many nights ago, he tossed it onto the bed with the pile of clothing. As he was finishing up the final trunk there was a knock on the door and his elfin father entered.

Nathaniel stood and walked over to the elder elf embracing him. Brix Suntouched held him close running a hand down his hair. The fact they were willing letting him go still seemed too good to be true. Though it seemed his father was having a hard time with it, and Nathaniel couldn't find it in his heart fault him.

"I can't take all this with me, Father," he said. "I'd say save it until I returned but afraid it will be out of fashion by then."

"Aye," his father said, "I'll donate what you leave. You are to depart soon?"

Nathaniel nodded. "My pa has been gone too long from the fields. Though I do appreciate the note you risked to send to Darrowmere Forest to assure them of our wellbeing."

"It was nothing," his father said with a shrug. "The scout reported no mishaps and was assured the farm was doing fine. Though … they do miss you and look forward to your return, as will I when you leave." Nathaniel hugged his father for a long moment. The elder wiped a tear from his cheek as they parted. "I'll leave you to pack, please join me for an early dinner afterwards."

As it had been in the weeks since his torture when Nathaniel got emotional his head got all mixed up. Instead of sorrow he was filled with anger and rage. As his father shut the door he felt his shoulders grow tense. "Brother?" he said.

"Ready," Foster answered and Nathaniel attacked him. No matter how he punched, kicked and attacked his blows were blocked with ease and his brother did not counter. As the unreasonable fury climaxed and then ebbed his brother caught one of his punches and twisted him so he was trapped in a bear hug from behind. "Feel better," Foster asked.

"Aye," Nathaniel replied between gasps. He was covered in sweat. "I'll need to find a change of clothing before we join my father downstairs." Foster held him a moment longer before he stepped back.

"Where did you learn to defend like that?" Nathaniel asked, opening one of the trunks. He took out an elaborate purple silk robe. His brother snorted behind him.

"A dress?" Foster guffawed. "You elves are weird."

"It's not a dress," Nathaniel said dropping it back in the chest. "It's a robe." He dug out a pair of pants and silk shirt which he quickly dressed into after refreshing himself with a basin of water. "You didn't answer my question, where did you learn to fight like that? Please don't say later …"

"Then I'll say 'when we're home'," Foster said, "Please, it is a story that I want to tell but … not here and not now. I expect to hear about your year of spoiling as well."

"Spoiling," he walked over to where the giant rocking horse sat and ran a hand over its elaborate painted head. "You have no idea," he whispered. Foster squeezed his shoulder. "Let's go have dinner; pa will want us back before it gets too late so we're rested for the ride home."

"We're going home," Nathaniel said softly with a smile.

The next morning was a flurry of activity. There were many tearful goodbyes and well wishes; it was done early in the morning to be more private. "Let him rest often," Belestra was telling his father. "It would be better if we could keep him a bit longer …"

"Forever," his elfin father said sadly. Nathaniel squeezed his hand from where he held it while he sat on the back of Rook.

"This truly is the best medicine for your son, Master Suntouched," Belestra said. "He has recovered a thousand times faster under the watch of the Conways than he could have under ours alone. We were foolish to take in the first place." This was directed to Lor'themar who sat astride a white Hawkstrider. The ranger gave her a cool look but didn't argue. Alongside was the rest of his ranger squad, Swiftwind, Helios, Solanna and Halduron they would escort them to Thalassian Pass.

"I'll be back, Father," Nathaniel said. "Thank you for the grape seeds; we'll try our hand at growing them."

"We should go," Lor'themar said, "before we become the spectacle we were hoping to avoid."

Bending down Nathaniel embraced his father one more time. "Shorel'aran, Father," he said, followed by for the first time, a "love you."

Brix Suntouched smiled up at him. "Al diel shala, my son, love you too."

His pa rode Granite up close and shook his elfin's father's hand. "I'll make sure he honors his promise to return," he said. "Thank you, for letting us take him home."

"He's an adult," his father said, "he's allowed to do as he wishes. I wish I could apologize for the taking of him in the first place but if it hadn't happened I would have never gotten see what a fine man you raised him to be." With that Brix Suntouched turned and climbed into the nearby carriage. Nathaniel watched him until he disappeared around a bend, his father never looked back.

"Ready?"

Nathaniel nodded at his pa and motioned Rook to fall in step behind Lor'themar. His brother and father took their places beside him while the ranger corps followed behind. His mind was a mix of emotions and he fought to control the rage, he didn't want to delay their return any more than they already had. He made it a good hour before he pulled on Rook's reins pulling the horse to a halt.

"Need to rest?" Halduron asked.

"Not exactly," Nathaniel said, tossing the reins to his pa he climbed off the saddle.

Foster did the same as they walked away from the group. "You did better," Foster said, "ready."

Nathaniel attacked with full fury of the hunger caused by his drug withdrawal. As always his brother deflected his attacks. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his father motion to Helios to stand back but the elf brushed him aside and moved forward. A new target for his anger, one that he could hurt … the thought fueled his unnatural desire. His surprise attack was blocked by Foster, who appeared in front of Helios.

"I'm your target," his brother shouted. This time he lashed out and slapped him. This was new and Nathaniel didn't like it. He redoubled the attacks until once again as quickly as it had come the rage left, leaving him breathless and weak. Foster helped him back onto Rook and then climbed back onto his own horse.

"What in the Sunwell was that?" Swiftwind asked, "Some kind of human mating ritual?"

Foster chuckled and Nathaniel blushed. "The bloodthistle's lasting mark on me, Sister," he said. "When the craving comes it either brings pain of withdrawal or unreasonable rage … this is the way I can handle it for now. Luckily I have a brother that makes a good punching bag."

"Stupid bastard," Helios said, "I'm sorry, Baby Brother, you had …"

Nathaniel waved him off. "What is done is done, that man was insane I hold no fault with you or the Quel'dorei. Every day the hunger gets less, I will be in good health soon enough. My heart is torn between the joy of seeing my family and the sorrow of losing the one I have found here."

"You promised to return," Swiftwind said. "I'm sure with your human heart the wait will feel longer for you than for us, but you will be missed. You still owe me a fishing trip."

"Fishing?" his father said, "is that what the elves call it?"

The small group erupted in soft laughter as they rode further away from the gates of Silvermoon and closer to his home.


	53. Chapter 53

_Author's Warning: Naughty stuff happens in this chapter, you've been warned!_

**Chapter Fifty-Three – **_Thomas Conway, Age 46_

It was difficult not to speed up the farewells, Darrowmere Forest laid mere feet away but he knew he could not rush his son's goodbyes. Some were easier than others, the elf commander Lor'themar and the one they called Helios had embraced Nathaniel and kissed him on the forehead before retreating. The two females Swiftwind and Solanna were busy throwing heavy saddlebags over Rook and Knight filled with bottles of shampoo and conditioners among other things Thomas was sure. Afterwards they embraced Nathaniel for a long time, kissing his cheeks and face. Finally when he was on the verge of interrupting they were shooed away by Halduron.

The elder blond haired elf said his goodbyes to Nathaniel and then placing a hand behind his son's neck he tilted his head and kissed him on the lips. It was a lingering touch that caused eyebrows to be raised from the elves, Thomas came to a quick conclusion it wasn't a common way to say farewell. His son turned away, his cheeks warm with a blush but didn't seem overly distressed. Snorting, Thomas called out, "Next time at least buy him a drink first!"

This caused Nathaniel's blush to deepen as he swung up onto Rook's saddle and motioned the horse to gallop through Thalassian Pass with Foster on his heels. With one final look at the gather of elves, Thomas dipped his head and followed his sons. "I did it, Norah," he thought silently. "I'm bringing our boys home."

As expected they weren't far out of Thalassian Pass before his sons were fighting off Nathaniel's excess passion. Thomas was a bit worried for his youngest, though it seemed to only come after highly emotional moments. He wasn't sure he could control Nathaniel as well as Foster, which meant for the time being his boys were bound together. As his youngest sunk to the ground exhausted in his brother's arms, Thomas had a feeling neither would argue with such a pact. Foster had taken the oath to protect his brother from harm to heart, he had a feeling Nathaniel would help heal his brother as much as Foster would help him. "Let's camp here tonight," he said.

"Pa?" Foster said as he stood. "I know it's late but if we push ourselves we could be home before morning."

"Your brother isn't supposed to push himself," Thomas said. "Go gather some firewood for a fire, Foster." He waved a hand at Nathaniel to keep him from following. "You stay here and catch your breath."

Nathaniel nodded and sat back down resting his head in his hands. Thomas studied his youngest for a moment, his long blond hair hung freely, softening his already effeminate face. "Son?" he said, blue eyes looked up at him. "You know I am proud of you and your heritage but not everyone is of the same heart …"

"It's my ears isn't it?" Nathaniel said.

"I believe it is more than just your ears but let us see what we can do." Kneeling behind his son he gathered his loose hair up into a low ponytail. Then taking a handkerchief he tied it around Nathaniel's head, careful to tuck the elegant ears underneath. Stepping back he studied his work. A very elfin face looked back at him. He sighed. "How much longer until you start getting facial hair?" he asked.

Nathaniel shrugged. "A century, give or take a few decades," he replied.

"You're just going to have to stay close to home," Thomas said, "afraid you won't fool anyone anymore if they get an up close look of you."

"That sounds really good," Nathaniel said, "staying close to home that is."

"You may grow bored with such a leash someday," Thomas said. "One such as you may get wanderlust …"

"I've wandered far enough from home to last me awhile, Pa," Nathaniel said with a yawn.

"I second that," Foster replied, as he returned with an armload of sticks and logs. Soon they had a roaring fire blazing with a stew the elves had packed simmering over it. While it cooked Nathaniel had dozed off resting against a tree. They let him nap until supper was ready then woke him. After they ate, they took out their bedrolls and spread them out. Nathaniel was back asleep moments after lying down. Thomas envied his son as he tried to find a comfortable spot to lie. Foster laid down next to his brother and draped an arm over him. "He mentioned the other day he is used to sleeping in a litter of elves," Foster explained. "I'll get him back sleeping like a man soon enough, but for now this allows me to keep an eye and a hand on him."

Nodding Thomas moved his mat to the other side of Nathaniel, giving his youngest the warmth and security of two. The starry sky overhead was his blanket as he joined his sons in slumber.

The chill of the morning awoke them and after a quick breakfast they were back on the horses and headed home. The rode cross country, which not only kept them off the main road and away from travelers but also cut hours off their travel. The sun was high in the sky when they approached the homestead. Little Lucy spotted them first and sounded the alarm. Norah ran out and onto the porch. Rosemary hurried past her and ran toward the back field. She paused when Nathaniel let out the sharp whistle he had used a hundred times to signal his hunt was over.

Thomas hopped off his horse and ran over to his wife gathering her up his arms and showering her with kisses while he held her tight. "I missed you," he said, "I love you!" She returned his kisses and endearments. There was shouting and screams coming from the fields and he looked over to see Sara, Wendy, York and Grant running towards them.

Nathaniel and Foster slid off their horses and approached together, Thomas watched Norah give her boys a once over. Her hand shook slightly as she reached up and traced Nathaniel's handsome face. "You're so pale," she said, "Even more so than normal, are you ill?"

"Only homesick," Nathaniel said as he embraced her, "and this is the cure."

Norah returned the hug, Thomas didn't miss the fact she was using her priest training as she did to search for what their son wasn't saying aloud. Her attempt was interrupted as Nathaniel was tackled by Sara. Swinging his sister around Nathaniel laughed. "Missed you too, Sis," he said.

"Where have you been?" she demanded.

"Trying to get home," Nathaniel said with a small smile. "Took longer than I first planned but here I am."

She hugged him tightly before going to do the same with Foster. Thomas found his wife again and embraced her from behind. "They are home," he whispered, "not the men they were when they left, but now able to be who they will be after they heal."

"Heal?" Norah asked.

"More spirit than body, my love," Thomas replied.

"Those wounds are often the hardest to mend," Norah replied.

He watched as their extended family hovered close around the boys. "I think they will heal just fine, in the love we share."

"In time," Norah added.

"In time," Thomas agreed.

"May I ride into Corin's and fetch Sis?" Sara asked.

"Sure she'd appreciate that," Thomas said. "Take Queen, our horses deserve a rest."

"I'll go with her," Grant said.

"I'm not a little girl anymore," Sara said with a pout.

"That's what I'm worried about," Grant said with a smirk as he went into the barn to saddle a pair of horses.

As they rode off the rest were ushered into the house. Wendy and Rosemary shooed Norah out of the kitchen to spend time with her family, while they worked on stretching out the lunch which had been started to be shared by more. Lucy walked behind her uncles that had sat down at the table and ran a hand down their matching ponytails. "Uncle Foster has elf hair now!"

"If Nathaniel's hair there gets any prettier we'll have to put flowers in it," York said good-naturedly.

The fair cheeks blushed. "The elves are proud of their hair, wait until you see all the stuff they sent back with us to keep it this shimmering," Nathaniel said with a smile.

Norah moved behind him and removed the handkerchief he still wore, and then she took down his hair letting it hang freely. Afterwards she did the same to Foster; she ran a hand down their locks. Nathaniel's hung almost to the middle of his back now; Foster's was a little longer than shoulder length. "Is it wrong to be jealous of your sons' hair?" she asked.

Thomas moved behind her wrapping his arms around her. "I love you hair," he said, "especially when it's loose and spilling around me …"

"Oh come on," Foster said with a chuckle. "Keep it in the bedroom!"

"Good idea," Thomas said as he bent down and picked up his wife with ease. Draping her over his shoulder he carried the laughing woman down to their bedroom and shut the door, locking it behind him after he sat her down.

"Thomas," she said with a laugh, her cheeks flushed. "Our boys are home … shouldn't we …"

He silenced her with a kiss, one hand wrapped around her waist the other freed her auburn hair. Holding her close he let his need be known, by pressing it against her. "I missed you," he said. "There wasn't a night that has gone by I didn't yearn for your arms … please, beloved."

She answered him by unbuttoning his shirt and running her fingers across his bare chest, picking her up again he carried her over to their bed and laid her out on it. Watching her he slowly started working on the buttons in the front of her dress, after the forth one her full breasts spilled out and he stopped to tilt down and take one of the perky nipples into his mouth suckling it. Tugging gently on it with his teeth he was rewarded by a soft moan. After lavishing the other breast with the same attention he continued unbuttoning her dress until he could slide it off. Soon his wife was naked before him; he stepped back and looked down at her. Her auburn hair spilled out over the pillows like a fiery halo.

Slipping out of his shirt he left his pants on as he moved to the end of the bed and gently spread his wife's legs apart opening her to him. "Thomas …" whatever she was going to say was lost as he knelt and using his fingers to spread her folds apart claimed the peak within his lips. Shifting so he was lying flat his arms around her thighs he dined in ecstasy. He loved her taste, her scent, how he missed it these past months. Her fingers wrapped around in his hair as she held him there, afraid he might leave. His tongue plunged deep inside her only to pull back out and tease her hidden pleasure spot. It had been too long for both and he knew it would end sooner than both would want. He brought her to the crest but then sat up, moving his fingers to take the place of his tongue. He looked down at her, his face wet with her passion. Norah's eyes were closed, her hands cupping her own breasts as her tongue darted in and out of her lips as she grinded herself against his fingers. A soft moan of frustration came from her.

Pulling his pants down around knees he removed his fingers and silenced her protest by plunging deep inside. She let out a loud cry as he claimed her. Her hands wrapped around his ass pressing him into her. Their lust was primal now, the bed rocked with each deep thrust, he felt her climax her warmth clenching around him as she did. He lasted only a moment later before releasing buried inside her. Afterwards he kissed her and pulled her into his arms as they lay in bed, for now the world was just the two of them.


	54. Chapter 54

**Chapter Fifty-Four – **_Foster Conway, Age 23_

They had been home two weeks now, Foster and his brother had stepped back into the roles they had forsaken over a year ago with relative ease. However, working the land did not bring him the same joy as it once had. As he toiled his mind would think back to working alongside his orc brothers and the whip that would fall if they had a misstep. What had once brought him peace and fulfillment was now a chore both physically and mentally. Standing up, resting against the hoe he held, Foster looked over at his brother. Nathaniel worked ahead of him, shirtless, with his blond locks pulled up in a ponytail and his slender ears tucked away under his bandana. Even within the safety of their homestead it was decided they should keep them covered. Sensing eyes on him Nathaniel turned and looked over at him; smiling but the grin did not reach his eyes. Foster worried, his brother seemed to enjoy returning to the fields, he wondered what was amiss.

"Hey you two lazybones," Sara shouted, "There is work to be done!" She was busy laboring alongside them. Once they had returned she could have gone back to working at the house but she enjoyed the fields, so Pa let her stay. Wendy however, welcomed the chance to stay at home and be a mother to her children.

"Sorry, Sis," Nathaniel said, "my hands aren't used to the field anymore." To prove his point he lifted up his palms to show off the blisters.

"Baby Brother," Foster said, "go have Ma heal those … again. You'll toughen up soon, you pampered elf."

"Come with me," he replied, "she can treat the blisters on your back from the sunburn you're getting, she told you to wear a shirt, oh pale one."

Foster snorted, "pale coming from you, I must be as white as a sheet."

"Both of you head back," their father said. "It's good enough for today from you two; we have plenty of hands out here. We'll have you both fit for the fields soon enough, enjoy your time off."

They didn't need told twice and Foster fell in step beside his brother as they walked back to the house. "How are you doing?" he asked.

Nathaniel shrugged. "Hanging in there, Brother," he said.

"How about here?" Foster asked stopping his brother with one hand and placing the other on his chest. "You haven't released the fury in days, has it been extinguished?"

"Last time we terrified poor Lucy," Nathaniel said wrapping a hand around Foster's wrist and gently moving it. "I'm managing it and should I reach the point I cannot, I know where to find you."

Their mother was on the porch as they approached, and under her healing touch their blisters disappeared. Afterwards they hit the shower. Foster let Nathaniel go first, they were rationing the use of the shampoos and conditioners using them only a couple times a week. Days like today they did the same as they did as children and use the bar of lye soap made by their mother to scrub their hair on down to the their toes. Nathaniel came out of the shower naked and shook his long hair. "I miss warm water," he said through chattering teeth.

Foster grabbed a nearby towel and wrapped it around his brother's waist. "Not with the elves anymore," he said, "keep covered or you'll give Ma a heart attack." Getting a second towel he used it on Nathaniel's hair drying it out the best he could before taking his turn in the shower. He had to agree with his brother about missing the warm water, there was no standing under the shower head, you rinsed off quickly. The cool water did feel nice on his sun touched back; he would have to be more careful and wear that shirt he had been told to. Wrapping a towel around his waist and another around his hair he walked into the house.

Wendy smiled at him as he went past. "Four towels between the two of you," she said, "perhaps you should do the laundry, fussing over that hair more than us women."

Taking the towel off his hair, he shook his long tresses showering her. "You are correct, Sis, air drying is much better!" Dodging her swat he hurried up the stairs and into the bedroom he shared with Nathaniel.

They had rearranged since they arrived, gone were the proper beds instead a couple of mattress were wedged together in the corner. They still slept like the elves. His brother was sitting on the bed, working a comb through his long blond hair. Nathaniel's irritation showed as he roughly pulled out a couple of tangles, after watching the painful show a couple of moments Foster moved over and took the comb from him. Sitting down behind he started working the comb slowly through the hair.

"Talk," he said, "we don't hold secrets; not after what we went through."

"York asked me the other day if I favored men after staying with the elves," Nathaniel said softly.

Foster's hand jerked slightly. "He had no right to ask such a question, that's no one's business but your own."

"I told him, the thought never occurred … I was told it would be decades before my sexual desires awoke. I guess the elfin child in me finds the possibility of sleeping with either females or males as … icky." Nathaniel sighed. "Then he asked … if you and I were lovers. By the Light, perhaps we should do as Pa suggested and move to separate bedrooms; I could take Janice's old room. What they say about me matters not, but was hoping someday you'd settle down; can't have such rumors going about."

Foster stood and moved over to the dresser looking through it for a change of clothes. Getting dressed, he pulled his still wet hair up into a ponytail. Daring not to look at his brother, he kept his gaze turned away. "Sleeping with you in that way would be like bedding my sisters," he said softly. "The thought never entered my mind. I want us to remain together for now, please; I need it as much as you. I slept with a naga for over a year, I'll take your snoring any day." He paused at the door. "Get some rest, Baby Brother; we'll wake you before dinner."

"A nap?" was the sad reply.

Foster knew where his brother's thoughts had gone; they had spoken many nights over the trials both had suffered while apart. Including the forced upon childhood by the elves. "Nay," Foster replied, "just a recharge, the door won't be locked you don't have too … you just sound as tired as I feel. I may be back in a few to join you, something I need to do first."

"What is that?" Nathaniel asked.

Foster didn't answer as he walked out the door and strolled purposely down the stairs. He brushed past Wendy and outside. Each step he took his fury built and by the time he reached the Eastern field and saw York and Grant talking it was ready to erupt. York's friendly greeting was interrupted by Foster's fist to his mouth, his second landed just as solidly.

"What the hell!" York shouted as he blocked the third.

"You had no right," Foster shouted, swinging again. "By the Light do you know what we went through? If I can offer my brother a moment of peace by my embrace then so be it, we don't need it twisted by your bigot ways!"

"I saw you two the other day in the barn," York shouted back as he tried to hit back, "you were close to fucking each other. What if my daughter had walked in on that? You had his shirt practically torn off."

"Holy hell," Grant said, staring between the two men in disbelief.

"He was having a fit," Foster said angrily, "if you ever have the feeling of having your gut pulled out through your throat you may have an inkling of what my brother goes through until then keep your dirty thoughts to yourself."

His next punch was caught by someone from behind and as he lashed out blindly, Nathaniel barely blocked the blow. "Brother, don't do this! He's family; it's just a huge misunderstanding!"

"What is going on here?" Wendy cried, having followed the half-dressed Nathaniel out of the house. The men looked at each other, their emotions still bare. She hurried over to her husband who was nursing a busted lip and nose.

"I second that," their father said coolly as he appeared with Sara and their ma close behind. "What in the hell is going on here?"

Foster shook his arm free from Nathaniel's hold. "Ah since the whole family is here I'd like to make an announcement," he said darkly. "Contrary to popular belief I am not fucking my brother, now stay out of our damn business." His family looked at him in shock. A range of emotions played over Nathaniel's face before he turned and fled back to the house. "Fuck," Foster said as he ran after him.

He was roughly grabbed from behind and his father blocked the punch thrown his way. "We need to talk, now," his pa said gruffly.

Foster watched as Sara ran after Nathaniel. "Now," his father said again.

"I'm not a child," Foster growled, "You can't order me around."

"I'm not asking a child," his father replied in the same tone, "I'm telling my son to talk to me. Tell me what the hell just happened?"

Foster pointed over to where Wendy and his ma were patching up York. "He accused Nathaniel and I of lying together, of course he's a fucking coward and brought it up with my brother instead of me." He was talking loud enough for everyone to hear and the women looked at York in shock. "By the Light, Nathaniel's soul is crying out right now he needs the comfort of family not the hate of bigots. That is all I'm trying to do … why must every step be a challenge?"

"Your spirit is crying out too," His father said, "you and your brother may very well be soul mates in a way deeper than any word there is out there to explain it. I trusted Nathaniel into your care twenty years ago as his big brother and I still do. Go now, he needs you."

Foster ran back to the house, once inside he heard Sara pleading with Nathaniel upstairs. Taking the steps two at a time he found her outside the door to their bedroom. "Please, Brother, he didn't mean anything … men are just idiots, present company included … please open the door. Don't shut us out!"

"Baby Brother," Foster said as he joined her, "we need to talk, now."

"Shorel'aran, Brother," Nathaniel said from within.

"Shore…what…" Sara looked over at him.

Foster thought he had heard that elfin word before, after a moment he realized Nathaniel had said it to his elfin father when they parted, it meant goodbye! Pushing his sister to the side he brought his foot down hard against the door below the doorknob it crashed in, ignoring Sara's shout he raced inside. The next moments played out in slow motion, the crimson blood on Nathaniel's fair skin, the bloody knife he held ready to bring down on his other wrist. Grabbing the injured wrist with his hand he twisted it making the knife it held fall. Squeezing to stop the flow of blood he backhanded his brother hard. "Damn it, no … I told you … I showed you, nothing is worth this … nothing!"

"I'm tired of being the yoke around your neck, Brother," Nathaniel cried. "I'm too human to belong with the elves and to elven to belong with the humans … Pa should have left me to die with …"

Foster didn't allow him to finish as he slapped him again. "Damn it, shut up … shut the fuck up don't you dare disown everything we've been through these past twenty years. The good and there has been a lot of good, the bad, the happy times, the sad times, they have all forged us to be the men we are now."

"I'm no man," Nathaniel said softly, "the elves were right."

Foster let out a shout of frustration. There were sounds of running feet up the stairs. There was no fight left in Nathaniel so there was no concern when he handed the gravely injured elf to his mother a moment later. Once the self-inflicted injury was obvious she looked stricken but it quickly faded as she pulled Nathaniel to her and starting chanting, closing the wound. As she worked Foster found the blade, it was Nathaniel's hunting knife. Taking it with him he went down to the kitchen. Under the running water he washed the blood off his hands, watching swirl into the drain.

He started to shake as he studied the old scars around his wrists, what a hypocrite. "What made you want to live again?" his father asked from behind him.

"Nignath," Foster said, "the orc maiden, she had lost her family and didn't want her to be alone. Pa, he sounded so forlorn, how do you give one hope when he refuses to see it?"

"Your brother's entire life had been built around hope," his father said. "Don't give up on him. I truly think if he was in his right mind, this moment would have never happened. He's still hurting."

"Pa, I know we've just come home," Foster stared at his hands. "Part of me wants to take Nathaniel and leave for a while."

"And go where?" his father asked.

"I don't know, honestly," Foster said. "I no longer feel at home here on the farm, I'm sorry. I think I may do well in the life you turned your back on when you married Ma."

"The military?" his pa said, "they would never accept your brother."

"He was a soldier for the elves; he could be again for the humans, someday but not yet … not until we're both whole." Foster paused, "the farm has run well in our absence, I'm sure it could again with you, Sara, Grant and York …"

"I've asked York and Wendy to leave," his father said. "It is time," he continued waving off Foster's shocked look. "We had planned it before your disappearance. Kyle's father, Henry, and I went together and bought them a small piece of land between us and Corin's. It will treat them well. We got the house and barn built last spring. The grandchildren will still be within walking distance but we won't be breathing down one another's necks."

"Nathaniel will blame himself," Foster said sadly.

"We won't let him," his pa replied.

Foster said, "Nathaniel said he was tired of roaming, hopefully he won't mind another trip."

"That boy would follow you to hell and back," his pa said. "But please for your ma's sake put the thought of leaving off for a bit. Go now; help him get through this night … and many to follow."

Foster embraced his father for a long moment before his sire squeezed his shoulder and stepped back. He didn't miss the tear falling on the grizzly cheek as his pa turned away.


	55. Chapter 55

**Chapter Fifty-Five – **_Nathaniel Conway, Age 21_

He listened to Foster's footsteps come back up the stairs, they paused in the doorway. Nathaniel kept himself curled up in the corner of the bed where Ma had left him. His wrist still stung from his stupidity, wrapped in a cosmetic bandage, the wound had been closed. His brother retreated, Nathaniel didn't blame him, he didn't want to be near himself either. Soon though Foster returned, and the sound of scrubbing made Nathaniel look up. His brother was on his hands and knees in middle of their room scouring their floor with a brush dipped in soapy water.

It seemed an odd time to clean the floor, and then it dawned on his exhausted mind what he was cleaning up. Uncurling he moved over to where Foster was scrubbing at the crimson stains. "I made the mess," he said kneeling, "let me clean it."

Foster ignored him and continued cleaning. Sighing Nathaniel reached for the brush and his wrist was grabbed as he was gently pushed back onto the bed. "Or you can," he said as his brother remained silent. "Guess I'll leave you at it then," Nathaniel said standing.

"Within my sights at all time," Foster said tensely.

Nathaniel froze and looked over at his brother. "You are not my commander; you can't make me hold to that …"

Dark eyes looked back at him, "Want to test that theory, Baby Brother?"

"Fuck it," Nathaniel grumbled, "I just want to run to the outhouse, you going to hold my hand while I do?"

"Yes," Foster said as he turned his attention to the floor once again. "After I finish here, now sit your ass down."

Nathaniel stared at his brother a moment and with a shake of his head walked toward the door, which still hung halfway off its hinges. An iron vice grabbed his ankle and jerked; he caught himself before hitting the ground and glowered over his shoulder at Foster.

"Do you really want to do this?" Foster asked.

Dawned on Nathaniel this is exactly what he wanted to do as he kicked at his brother's face. Foster easily blocked it and then releasing his leg backed up, crouched down low like a viper ready to strike. Nathaniel knew it was a lost cause as soon as his brother had time to get into a defensive stance but attacked him regardless. His blows were easily deflected, and eventually like all their bouts before, he ended up exhausted in Foster's embrace.

"Feel better?" Foster asked.

"Aye," Nathaniel said between breaths.

"Good," his brother said, "now sit your ass down while I go find a mop for the bucket we knocked over."

"Bathroom first, please," Nathaniel said, "or you'll have more to mop up."

Foster relented but true to his word escorted Nathaniel to the outhouse. Afterwards as they walked back into the house, Foster paused at the kitchen for the mop. Their ma raised an eyebrow but wisely didn't ask. Once in their room Nathaniel flopped down on the bed. "By the Light, I'm tired," he said, "but my mind won't let me rest."

"Then talk," Foster said as he mopped up the spilled water and rung it out into the bucket. "Why did you do it? We both went through hell the past year and now once we're back home within the arms of the ones that love us, you do this?" He held up his own scarred wrists.

"I just feel so lost," Nathaniel said, "as cliché as it sounds, I don't know where I belong."

His brother gave him no words of wisdom as he finished with the floor. He set the mop outside in the hall and adjusted the door so it closed the best it could. Then he moved over to the bed, sliding off his boots, he stepped over Nathaniel and sat down in the corner. Crossing his legs he patted his lap. "Sit," he said. Not having the heart to argue Nathaniel did as he asked, sitting facing out; his back against Foster's chest. His brother wrapped his arms around him tightly and started to sob. They weren't soft cries either but gut wrenching sobs.

Nathaniel could never remember a time his brother had shed tears. Where they fell like rain for him, his brother had remained strong and steadfast. "Brother," he said as his bare back became damp with Foster's sorrow.

"Don't you _ever_ do that again," Foster said through his sobs. "I can't lose you, Baby Brother, not again … please, promise me, so I don't have to live with that fear."

Nathaniel's own cheeks grew damp. "I just want to go back to the way things used to be …"

"We can't, Baby Brother, we can't go back we can only go forward … please promise me you won't hurt yourself … please …"

"I promise …" the words were hard to say, it felt like he was giving up the one thing he had control in his life. "I promise to not to surrender to my dark thoughts as long as you're alive …"

"No," Foster said, "longer … forever, watch over my children and their children; do not take the coward way out ever … promise me!"

"Please," Nathaniel whispered, "we don't know what the future holds …"

"Swear to me as my brother you will never harm yourself again," Foster's voice gained strength.

"I swear," Nathaniel said softly, "when my death comes it will not be by my own hand."

"That will do," Foster said, he reached out and found a blanket he pulled up over Nathaniel. "I need to rest, please try to do the same but if you cannot remain with me. I need to feel your heart beat alongside mine."

Nathaniel adjusted himself slightly; he wasn't sure how his Foster fell asleep so easily sitting up. Finally with a sigh he closed his eyes and rested against his brother's shoulder. He was surprised to wake to a darkened room, unaware he had dozed off. Foster's steady breathing told him his brother still slept. It dawned on him there were others in the bed with them, Sara slept at their feet in her nightgown. Her hand wrapped around his. Resting against the wall was his father, shirtless with Ma in her nightgown tucked up next to him. Their small bed was quite crowded.

The women were asleep but Pa's eyes found his. "Wanted to sleep like elves," he whispered.

"They have bigger beds," Nathaniel replied in the same hushed tones.

"We'll work on it," his father said, "are you hungry?"

"A little," he admitted. They had slept through dinner, it seemed.

Reaching beside him, his pa grabbed something sitting on a tray next near him and tossed it at Nathaniel. Catching it he found it to be a cold roll. Taking a bite he discovered it stuffed with meat. Would have tasted better hot but his stomach appreciated it.

"Have another one of those?" Foster asked startling him.

Their pa tossed one that his brother caught, eating it over Nathaniel's shoulder. After a second roll and a drink of ale from a flask Foster moved him off his legs and laid him down beside Sara. Then his brother spooned him from behind. Pa moved Ma so she lay behind Foster before wedging himself between her and the wall. Letting out a content sigh Nathaniel closed his eyes and fell into a dreamless sleep soon after.

He awoke to the familiar feeling of entwined bodies; his left arm was wrapped around Sara as she slept cradled next to him. Foster's right hand rested on his chest, as his brother slept on his side, close to him. Nathaniel could not see how his parents faired in the crowded sleeping arrangements but the soft snores from beyond Foster signaled that at least one of them was still sleeping.

Absently running a hand through his sister's hair, he thought about the past twenty-four hours. Glancing at the bandage around his wrist, a blush of shame crossed his fair cheeks. How stupid …what if Foster hadn't found him, he would have repaid back the family that raised him as their own without question, with a corpse. That would have destroyed his mother, he was an idiot. To endure everything he had in the past year to give up because of some poorly chosen words. The hand on his chest moved lower and Foster's thumb starting massaging his abdomen, trying to cut short the spasm he felt rising.

"Breathe through it," Foster whispered.

Taking a breath through his nose and blowing it slowing out through his lips Nathaniel tried to calm himself. The painful fits had lessened drastically since their arrival home. Though they seemed triggered by stress and the past day had been that in spades. His entire body shuddered as he began to sweat profusely, he was losing the battle. Foster shifted himself so his full weight was behind the hand on Nathaniel's belly, massaging. Sara's cool hand found his forehead as she leaned close and kissed his cheek.

"It will be okay," she whispered. "Ride it out, your family is here."

Taking that as permission to let go, Nathaniel stopped trying to fight it and let the pain sweep through him. His loud scream was the last thing he remembered before darkness returned to embrace him and he gladly surrendered.


	56. Chapter 56

**Chapter Fifty-Six – **_Foster Conway, Age 23_

"Before we left the elves, that Priestess Belestra spoke to me" Pa said at the breakfast table, where Foster sat with him, Sara and Ma. After a reassuring check by his mother they had left Nathaniel sleeping upstairs to awake when he was ready. "They purged his body numerous times; she was completely convinced the painful and aggressive attacks are not due to the lingering effect of any drug."

"Then what is causing him so much pain both to his body and heart?" Sara asked.

Pa pointed to his head. "It's up here," he said, "there is an internal battle going on in your brother's head and when he can't handle it anymore it explodes either by anger or physical pain."

"He did go through a lot," Foster admitted.

"I wish you boys would speak more freely with the rest of us so we'd know exactly what," Ma said softly.

Foster looked over at his mother with kind eyes. "Nothing good would come out of it, Ma. There are some things you are better off not knowing."

"Well," Pa said, "there is something going on with your brother that is going to continue to cripple him until he can face it and make peace. And you, my son, are probably the only one who he'll allow to help him to do so."

"No pressure," Foster said, standing. He grabbed the plate of hotcakes Ma had set aside for Nathaniel and put it on a tray alongside some syrup, jam and a mug of coffee. Taking it he headed upstairs and into the room. Not surprised to find Nathaniel sitting up in the bed studying his wrists in the light of day. Their mother had erased any signs of his attempt last night, but the left was still scared from the time with the elves. "What do you think?" he asked, knowing his brother had eavesdropped on the conversation; some habits were harder to break than others. Setting the tray down in front of his brother he sat down.

"Makes the most sense to me," Nathaniel said softly as he spread some strawberry jam onto his hotcakes. "Never did seem sensible that these fits were lingering drug related moments. I just don't know what I need to do, to fix … me."

"Start by talking about what's bothering you?" Foster said.

"I've already told you everything," Nathaniel said.

"Did you?" Foster said. "You spoke of your first months, about your sickness and your frustration of plans being made without your consent. Then the time with the Nanny from hell, she actually paddled you like a child. Hell, even as children we were never spanked, well after … that one time, I raised my hand to you … after that our punishments for being brats was never physical." As he talked he watched his brother for reactions. The mention of the spanking made his brother's ears warm with embarrassment but that was all.

"Then there was the ball … last dance I went to was the Summer Solace with Bethany, bet yours was a bit fancier. That evening is the first time you thought about ending it all, wasn't it? You had reached your breaking point, but like me you were given a lifeline by the Farstriders. The months which followed were happy ones for you …"

"Not happy," Nathaniel said, "I was still kept on a leash …"

"It is okay," Foster said, "you can say you were happy, no one will hold it against you. It was my dearest wish that you were content and well cared for." Nathaniel played with the food on his plate. Still not what Foster was looking for, he continued the recount he had been told. "It wasn't all fun in games, your friends got hurt and you had to use your arrows for something other than killing food for your family …" He picked up a slight increase in his brother's breathing. "Then came the time that they were going to take you away from your Ranger family because you lacked the resolve to kill, but before that happened your squad was attacked while out on patrol. You used your 'leash' to get help for them; you saved them by bringing the full fury of the High Elves to their aid. In exchange it almost cost you your life due to the magic rebound. After they used you to return to the forest you were able to destroy your bracer and make an escape away from the elves and toward home." There … the way his brother looked away, the racing of his heart, the involuntary flexing of his left hand. "There is more to the story, isn't there, Baby Brother?" Foster said softly, running a hand down Nathaniel's hair. "What happened before you made your escape? Your squad, the people you call Brothers and Sisters were in trouble, you wouldn't have just ran off without making sure they were safe first. What happened?"

He sensed the attack coming but pressed on. "No!" he shouted, "don't succumb! Tell me what you saw!"

"Blood," Nathaniel said, his voice sounded far away, he was reliving the moment. "There was blood on my armor, on my hands … so much blood."

"Yours?" Foster asked.

"No … theirs …"

"Whose?"

"The … the trolls I killed …" his brother let out choking sob as his body shook. "They were just trying to get back their ancestral lands, what right did I have? But they were going to kill them, I had to …" The spasms started and all Foster could do was embrace Nathaniel as he sobbed.

There it was … the final secret his brother had hid from him. Foster was at a loss of what to say, that was one path he hadn't succumbed to the year he was held captive. He may have wished it on others but he had never killed another.

"Nathaniel," He looked over to see Pa standing in the doorway, his cheeks wet with tears. He felt his brother startle in his arms. "You remember that day, when I killed Zach Dixon. I never lost a day of sleep over it; he was out to hurt my family. It is the same for you; those trolls haven't had those lands for a thousand years or more. They were there to kill your friends and you. You did not go seeking their deaths but do not be ashamed because it happened while you were defending those you loved. You only need to be concerned when you go looking for death, never question your right to protect those you love."

"I know these are just words to you at the moment, but I want them to be words you think of when you go to sleep. You are no killer, you are a protector … and yes those are two very different roles. I have a list of supplies I need from Corin's once you boys are up and about, go fetch them for me." That was Pa's way of trying to get Nathaniel's mind to stop replaying the past and move back to the present.

"Yes, sir," Nathaniel said softly surprising them both. His brother was looking at his hands and as he clenched them into fists Foster noticed the trembling had stopped.

Later he was behind the reins of their wagon, with Nathaniel sitting beside him. "I heard Bethany joined our Sis in Stormwind," his brother said.

"Aye," Foster said, "I don't blame her, and she waited for me long enough. I'm not sure what I want anymore."

"You were only with Nignath for a few short months," Nathaniel said, "you've known Bethany your entire life. If there was ever two people destined to be together it is you two."

"It may have only been a short time," Foster said, "but she's has a place in my heart no other can replace."

"Not replace," Nathaniel said as they approached town. He pulled his hood up shielding his face. "But you have a big heart, plenty of room to share."

"That's all I need … love advice from a guy who won't lose his virginity for another hundred years," he replied with a smirk, easily dodging the punch aimed his way.

Their first stop was the blacksmith for nails and the horse drawn plow which their pa had left to be sharpened and repaired. It took Foster a moment to recognize the bearded man who came out to great them, Kyle Madison had bulked out since the last time they had met. Not only by muscles in his arms but the girth under his apron. It took the other a moment to identify him as well and his eyes lit up when he did. "Foster Conway!" he said with a smile. "I heard you had come back into town, welcome home!" Kyle's gaze moved to Nathaniel, "so you're both home, always attached at the hip you were. Good to have you home as well, Nathaniel. What's with the hood, we all know about your blood here."

"I decided it is best not to flaunt my hereditary for the time being," Nathaniel replied, "perhaps once the humans and elves are back on speaking terms. It is good to see you as well, Kyle. How is your father?"

"His father can speak for himself," said Henry as he walked out of the smith wiping a hand across his brow. "I'm doing fine, thank you for asking. Good to see you two, wondered how long we were going to have to wait until you made an appearance. Been home a couple weeks haven't you? Could come to Sunday services you know?"

"Sorry," Foster said lightly, "we are readjusting to life back in Darrowmere Forest; we didn't mean to be strangers."

"Any stranger than we already are," Nathaniel replied with a smile.

Foster returned the grin; it was good to hear his brother tease. "We are here for the plow Pa left with you as well as some sturdy nails."

The greetings from the blacksmith were repeated through out town as they worked down their list of chores. Always the quiet one Foster could tell his brother was uncomfortable with all the attention and tried his best to hurry. As they were loading the last crates of supplies from the general store a familiar voice called out.

"My goodness," Ellen O'Connell said, "you do cut a fine figure, Foster Conway. Such a pity Beth missed your homecoming, can't believe my angel ran off to join a convent."

"Hello Mrs. O'Connell," Foster said with a smile, moving himself slightly in front of his brother to take the brunt of the older lady's affection. "Bethany went to train to be a priestess not a nun, she can still take a husband, and sounds like my sister Jenna might have."

"Are you offering yourself for the position?" she asked coyly.

As he stumbled of his reply, she brushed passed him and grabbed Nathaniel by the arm. "Oh do my eyes deceive me or has our elfin angel returned to us?" she pulled off the hood and smiled. "By the Light, you're more beautiful than I remember, Nathaniel. Why do you have those alluring ears all tucked away?"

"Only beautiful one I see here is you Mrs. O'Connell," Nathaniel said as he gracefully took her hand and brought it to his lips. "As always time seems to have bypassed you, as vibrant and stunning as always."

Took every ounce of Foster's maturity not to roll his eyes at his brother's syrupy words, he had forgotten how charming Nathaniel could be when he tried. It was Mrs. O'Connell who ended up with a blush on her cheeks. She fanned herself as they said their goodbyes and climbed back into the wagon for the ride home.

"If you were any smoother, Baby Brother," he said once they were out of earshot, "you'd be made of glass."

Nathaniel laughed, it was a joyful sound and Foster smiled. Yes, things were going to work out okay after all. They would have their bumps and bruises but after all was said and done, they had each other and for now that was good enough for both.

* * *

_**~ THE END ~**_

* * *

_Koori's Korner: There is more to their tale but this is a good breaking point for "Part One".Thank you so much for the wonderful reviews over the past months. Loved every one of them! _

_UPDATE: Good News! Brother's Two "Shattered" is started! Bad News … it's extremely dark and unsuitable to post here. There is an adult fan-fiction site that is a better fit, if you Google "adultfanfiction" you'll find the page. Warning: It is slash/yaoi (boys kissing boys) ~ K_


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